


Summers Folly

by samptra



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Handyman Steve Rogers, Horror, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Young Tony Stark, author Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-06-02 05:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19434712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samptra/pseuds/samptra
Summary: Steve nodded looking pensive for a moment, like he was about to say something, opening his mouth before shutting it again.“If you need anything,” he said finally pulling a white card out of his pocket, “My home number is here and my cell…call me.” He smiled once more and with a little wave headed out the door and to his truck.Tony watched him until he was gone down the lane, wondering what Steve had really wanted to say to him, he looked at the small card and shrugged he had no idea what it was and he guessed it really didn’t matter.Later he would regret not pushing Steve to tell him.





	1. Salts Hill

**Author's Note:**

> So work this ages ago, and it was a Gundam fic, but as my writing has improved I'm going to take another crack at this and rewrite as a Steve/Tony, but I am setting this is the modern world, it is a horror, and we have Young Tony Stark mid 20s, and an older Steve 30s. So I'm working my through on this so have patience with me!

* * *

_He gasped softly at the crack of underbrush somewhere to his right. His heart pounding loudly in his chest, he could almost feel the bile rising in the back of his throat._

_Why was he here?_

_How had his big mouth got him out here?_

_“Hello?” he choked out barely recognizing his own wavering voice as it fell away in a puff of_ vapour _in the chilly fall evening._

_Silence…_

_The quiet felt oppressive and heavy._

_He moved faster, he just had to get to the lake, look in in it, and then he could go home._

_He shivered_ wrapping _his arms tighter around himself, trying not to think about the story he had heard no more than an hour ago before bragging his way out into the dark and cold._

_His rational mind knew there would be nobody floating in the water. No women in a blood-soaked dress, face picked away by the small animals of the lake._

_Still, his flesh crawled at the thought of a slimy decayed hand creeping over his side. Reaching for him…_

“And it pulls him under the water and the terrible bloody women gets him,” with a pained groan he all but punched the delete key on his Mac.

Frustrated the man got up from his desk prowling across his penthouse heading for the balcony. Sliding open the doors the figure stepped out into the warm New York night.

The city vibrated with life, even with the impending thunderstorm he could see rolling across the horizon. A cool breeze ruffled dark hair, teasing stray stands. Leaning forward he rested his forearms on the railing, closing his eyes and enjoying the noises of the city below.

The lean figure on the balcony clad in a white tank top, and black boxer briefs, was at a loss. He was just in complete denial about it.

As if reading his thoughts his cell rang from somewhere inside, and he already knew who was on the other end. Sighing in surrender he moved back into the condo grabbing his phone from the counter recognizing the name popping up.

“Hey Pep,” he answered with no small amount of trepidation.

“Tony,” came the greeting at the other end of the line.

Tony bit back a sigh, already knowing what the somewhat terrifying blonde was was after.

“How’s the book coming?” she continued in the same breath.

Hazel eyes closed and his face curled in a grimace.

“Not done,” he muttered knowing what was coming next.

“Tony it’s June, and you were supposed to have had the manuscript a month ago.”

Tony Stark closed his eyes leaning against the wall gently beating his head against the solid surface. “I don’t have any ideas…everything I write just sounds so tripe, and overdone.”

The hazel-eyed man on the phone was bestselling horror novelist Tony Maxwell. A name that in the last few years had become synonymous with terror. While still a relatively young novelist at the age of 25, his break out hit at 21 was his first novel _Run_. Hailed by critics as the most terrifying novel of the last decade. His second and third novels had proved to be just as successful, solidifying his name in the genre.

For Tony though, _Run_ was still his best.

The women on the phone was his publicist Virginia Potts, Pepper to her friends, and she was none too happy with him at the moment. Tony was supposed to be working on his fourth book, which had been due a month ago. For whatever reason though, he couldn’t seem to finish it. Everything he wrote sounded to cliché.

He had writer's block pure and simple but he just couldn't seem to reconcile it with himself.

“Tony…what can I do? What do you need?”

Those hazel eyes flashed in the darkness, lit by the lightning outside. The air was already hot and humid for this time of year, and that did not bode well for a sweltering summer spent in the city…in a tiny, claustrophobic…

“Vacation," he whispered more to himself than the other on the phone.

“Tony that’s brilliant!”

Tony began to smile as the idea took root in his own mind.

“I know this great place, Happy and I went last year, it was a beautiful island community. It’s off the Eastern coast, something like Summer’s Launch, or Fall or something like that. Big tourist hot spot in the summer months, I’ll get the real estate agent on the phone who helped us.”

Tony smiled slowly, “I think that would be a good idea Pepper, I want a place from June till Labour Day. Something secluded, and quite so I can work.”

His agent bubbled away talking about how much Tony would enjoy the small town, the quaint people, and a chance to get out of the city.

With promises to call the realtor first thing in the morning, they said their goodnights. Tony hung up the phone moving back to his Macbook closing the silver cover. He knew he would work no more tonight. Long, lean muscular legs strode back to the balcony just as the rain came.

“A vacation…” he muttered closing the doors with a snap and moving to his bedroom. Suddenly incredibly excited to get away for a bit.

After all the city didn’t seem to be speaking to him anymore.

-#-#-#-

It was the insistent ringing that woke him.

Groaning a large tanned hand shot out as the figure in the bed smacked at his side table looking for his phone. Grabbing for it blindly.

“Hello?” he mumbled voice thick with sleep.

“Rogers, you still asleep?” came the growled voice on the other end.

“What the hell do you want Bucky…” he groused, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. “At 5 in the damn morning.”

“Someone is renting the Salts Hill.”

Steve sat up suddenly wide awake, “You’re fucking with me aren’t you?”

There was another deep chuckle from the only realtor on Summers Folly, James Barnes. “Not at all, some big shot writer from New York. Wanted to rent somewhere from June through Labour Day, somewhere secluded and quiet so he could write."

Steve whistled through his teeth, “Anyone I know?”

There was a rustle of paper then, “Stark, Anthony Stark…”

Steve’s eyebrows raised in disbelief, he definitely knew that name. He loved horror books, and Stark was currently number one on his reading list. Steve was dying to read his new one but he hadn’t heard of any upcoming release date. Steve was looking forward to the movie based on his first book that was due out this summer.

“Salts Hill hasn’t been rented out in a decade…and the history…”

Bucky gave a dismissive snort, “It’s a story punk, the place is just old and rundown which is why I am calling you.”

The man still in bed sighed, as at last, they came to the point of the conversation, “Oh yeah?”

“Yes, you have a week to get the place in shape.”

“How much?”

“You’re contracted out for the duration of his stay $25,000.”

Steve choked in surprise, “You kidding me? Who in their right mind…”

Bucky cut him off again, “His agent, she’s very worried about her golden goose, he needs to finish his book and she wants to make sure that this Stark isn’t bothered by anything. I assured her that we have a very capable handyman on the island, that can see to his every need.”

Steve rubbed a callused hand across his face, “So I have a week to get the place habitable, then for the rest of the summer I’m on call?”

There was an affirmative sound at the other end, “Yes and you’ll look after the lawns.”

Steve gave a dry chuckle, “Yes of course,” he said dismissively, feeling more irritable than usual today.

“Anyway Steve, this is good business for the island, and for you, so let's just get through this summer.”

Running a hand through his hair he gave Bucky a non-committal grunt as they exchanged goodbyes.

Steve Rogers heaved a sigh, he would get no more sleep today. Standing he stretched yawning widely, he had better get going if he was to get that place in order.

-#-#-#-

“You have everything?” Pepper asked as she helped Tony load the last of his bags into his truck.

“Yes Pep, stop worrying so much I got this.”

The women were smartly dressed in a well-tailored power suit that Tony had no doubt cost more than his truck.

“Mr Barnes is the realtor, and he said the handyman…Mr. Steve Rogers has got the place all set up for you,” Pepper explained handing him a piece of paper with all the numbers on it.

“The place is called Salts Hill, and if you have any issues you’re to call the handyman. Bucky will be there to meet you, give you your key and make sure you’re all looked after.”

Tony tucked the sheet away with a chuckle, “Bucky? Really?”

Pepper shrugged offering him a half grin, “He insisted on calling him that.” Shrugging Tony gave her a quick hug before sliding behind the wheel.

“Call me when you get there ok?” 

Tony nodded excitedly to be away.

“Have a good vacation Tony,” Pepper said with a smile and a wave.

Tony waved absently as he headed down the road, eager to see what awaited him in Summer’s Folly.

-#-#-#-

The drive was long, taking up the better part of the day, and by the time Tony reached the ferry, it was late afternoon. 

Parking he got out of the truck, making his way to the railing to watch the island approach. It was an hour ferry ride out to the small island community, Tony smiled in anticipation, ready for whatever was in store.

-#-#-#-

Across the dark blue water, in the shady drive of a large ominous house, sat Steve Rogers; handyman, landscaper, jack of all trades. Worn baseball cap turned backwards as he sat on the tailgate of his red truck reading a paperback. He did his best to ignore the unsettling presence of Salts Hill at his back.

He was waiting for Mr Stark, the author due on arrival at any moment.

Mr Stark’s agent had originally set up with Bucky to meet him. Unfortunately, Bucky had been called away on some business on the mainland and had ended up sending Steve to meet him instead.

Sighing Steve looked back at the house feeling a rash of goosebumps break out across his arms, recalling the unnerving week he’d spent in the house. He was a true horror fan, and Steve would be the first to admit it. Books, movies, and games he had a great many, and he didn’t scare easy.

This house though…he hadn’t taken any chances ….

He had started work every day at 9 AM in broad daylight and made damn sure to knock off at 5 long before it got even remotely dark.

His gauze wrapped forearm, now slightly yellowed with age, and stained green from yard work a reminder of his time in the house. Under the white filmy strip was a neat little row of stitches, about 10 or so. He’d been installing a new pane of glass in one of the busted windows, when suddenly and unaccountably it had slipped from the frame he was working on and had sliced his forearm. It had bled like no tomorrow and he’d had to go to the clinic to get it stitched up.

The whole thing had left him rather unsettled especially since he knew he had installed the pane correctly.

The sound of crunching gravel startled him back to the present. Steve stood setting the book aside as a truck rumbled towards him. Suddenly nervous as he lifted his hand slightly in welcome as the truck stopped before him.

Steve wasn’t sure what he’d pictured the elusive author as he’d never actually seen a picture of Anthony Stark. The man did his best to stay out of the spotlight. So, what stepped out of the truck through threw him for a loop.

“Hello,” came the surprisingly deep voice, husky and soft.

A long denim-clad leg, stepped out of the tuck, a beaten black Chuck Taylor stepping onto the gravel. It was followed by a long, lean frame that Steve was sure was all sinewy muscle. He wore a plain black t-shirt, and dark Ray-band aviators, dark hair tousled about his head. The man attached to it smiling widely, he was not someone Steve would picture as a bestseller horror novelist.

“Mr Barnes?” Came the rich husky voice again.

Finally picking his jaw up Steve shook his head to clear it speaking up.

“Ummm, sorry no I’m Steve Rogers, sort of the caretaker.”

Mr Stark flashed him a winning grin settling the aviators on top of his head, "Nice to meet you, Mr Rogers,” he said stepping forward to shake his hand.

Steve gripped the long slender fingers in his own, “Please call me Steve.”

The smile grew wider, “And I am Tony.”

Steve couldn’t help but notice the authors unusual eyes, they were a light hazel…almost golden in the filtered sun of the late day. 

“Welcome to Salts Hill,” Steve said softly, feeling his own lips curling in a smile.

Suddenly remembering what he was supposed to be doing he fumbled in his pockets fishing out the house key, complete with a _Summers Folly_ fob.

“This is your key; can I help with your bags?”

Tony nodded moving to the back of his truck, Steve hurrying to help.

“So Pep tells me you’re the resident handyman on the island?” The author asked, Steve, trying hard not to embarrasses himself as he struggled to carry all the bags at once.

“Pep?”

“My agent.”

“Oh, yes I guess I am.”

They moved to the door, “Lived here all your life?” the author asked.

Steve found himself nodding before he stopped, why was he falling all over himself? “Umm yes, my whole life." Unsure what else to say to break the awkward silence Steve was thankful when they reached the door.

Sliding the key in the lock Steve shouldered the old door opened into the entryway, Tony followed and they deposited his bags in the front hall.

“Kitchen,” Steve gestured off to his left, "The dining room, living room, and family room are all on this floor. There's a porch out back as well that looks onto the ocean." 

Steve tried to be casual but felt like his cheeks were burning in embarrassment. He felt off balance, he couldn’t seem to get himself in check.

“Upstairs there are three bedrooms and a study,” he gestured up the large staircase before turning back to the author.

“I’m done most of the work in the house, I do have to finish the roof though I hope you don’t mind? I didn’t get a chance to work on it with all the house repairs took longer than expected. Unfortunately, the roof is pretty rotted. More so then I thought.”

Steve shifted nervously, he had supposed to have finished all the repairs by the time the author arrived.

“Sure thing, not a problem,” Tony assured him and Steve internally sighed in relief.

“I know you want peace and quiet to write, and I am really sorry I couldn’t get it done on time.”

The other waved away the apology, “It’s no problem at all I don’t want a house with a leaky roof.”

He smiled and Steve felt butterflies in his stomach. That same awkward silence from before descended and was determined to break it when his cell phone started to ring. Cursing under his breath he reached for his pocket.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled moving back down the hall and out to the front porch answering his phone as he did.

-#-#-#-

Tony watched him go intrigued, Steve Rogers was a pleasant surprise. To be truthful he had imagined an older gentleman, someone uneducated and…rural, hell he’d been expecting a redneck if he was being honest. Steve defiantly wasn’t, yes he was wearing dirty jeans, and work boots, and his white t-shirt had seen better days. His faded green John Deer cap sat back on his shaggy blonde hair.

He was very tanned, probably from working outside, and the t-shirt couldn’t hide his very wide shoulders. He smiled ruefully to himself that would teach him he shouldn’t make assumptions.

He turned back to the house, it was dark inside, although the walls were white, and the furniture airy. 

“Odd…” he muttered looking around, there was a cool breeze that seemed to almost move through him. Shivering he turned feeling as if someone was watching.

“Sorry about that,” Steve walked back inside, "I have to get going through a clogged drain needs my attention.”

Steve smiled warmly, “I will be back tomorrow though, for the roof,” he added softly.

Tony blinked at him blankly for a moment, before he remembered “Ahh yes! Yes, thanks so much for your help, and for getting the house ready for me.” 

Steve nodded looking pensive for a moment, like he was about to say something, opening his mouth before shutting it again.

“If you need anything,” he said finally pulling a white card out of his pocket, “My home number is here and my cell…call me.” He smiled once more and with a little wave headed out the door and to his truck.

Tony watched him until he was gone down the lane, wondering what Steve had really wanted to say to him, he looked at the small card and shrugged he had no idea what it was and he guessed it really didn’t matter.

Later he would regret not pushing Steve to tell him.

TBC…


	2. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working my way through this, hoping to get all the chapters up soon, it's kind of cringe-worthy to look back at some of your older stuff. Anyway, hopefully you're enjoying.

* * *

Looking back later Tony would decide that the first week he spent at Salts Hill was the best…but that revelation was to come later.

His first night in the house though Tony was plagued with horrendous nightmares that he would not remember come the morning. The memories would come later but for now, that first morning he awoke feeling like a wrung-out sponge. Dark hair matted about his head, as he stumbled to the shower, eager to wash his sweat-drenched body.

He fought with the handles briefly before stepped into the tepid spray. Groaning he washed mechanically, struggling to remember what he’d dreamed about in the night. He often got a lot of good material in his dreams, mainly the nightmares, and those were never in short supply.

_Run_ had been a nightmare he had, a recurring one if he was honest. Now though the dreams where fuzzy, slipping away and with a sigh Tony let them go. No inspiration to be found this morning.

Finishing his shower, he moved to the bedroom, absently pulling on a clean back t-shirt and red boxer briefs. Pausing before the big window in the bedroom he paused a moment to lookout. The trees rustled softly in the early morning breeze, while beyond them the ocean glittered jewel-like; it was perfect. Tony smiled briefly lips curling, it was exactly what he needed. Taking a breath, he turned from the view, he had work to do.

He had put his computer in the study the night before, it was just down the hall from the bedroom. Settling in the room he made quick work of getting his laptop up and running. Opening a blank word document, he sat staring at the blinking cursor, waiting for divine inspiration. His mind was stubbornly blank.

Sighing he looked around the bright airy room, it was an oddly designed jutting off of the main house almost as an afterthought. It was semi-circular, having large windows on three sides and a respectable number of books lining the shelves.

Standing Tony moved to open several of the large windows allowing the sea air to blow through. The distant cry of seagulls carried to him faintly on the wind. Inhaling deeply he leaned forward resting his forearms on the ledge looking out over the seemingly endless blue water. It was a beautiful day on Summers Folly.

The crunch of gravel and the distant thrum of music alerted Tony to his visitor, he recognized the large red pickup immediately, it was Steve Rogers, here for the roof he assumed. He watched interested as the large truck halted in a small dust cloud, and the tall broad figure stepped out of the cab.

It was on the tip of Tony’s tongue to yell a good morning, but it died on his lips as Steve shrugged out of his flannel shirt tossing it into the truck, Steve was wearing a white beater that showed off every muscle through the shoulders and back. Tony watched as those muscles bunched and flexed, as he moved around the truck to the back. Steve pulled on a tool belt and work gloves then before lifting the long ladder from the back of the truck.

Hefting the metal ladder, he moved towards Tony’s side of the house, “Hello there!” Tony finally called trying not to feel like some sort of weird pervert, having watched the man get ready to work. Steve paused looking first left then right before his eyes drifted up, Tony watched as he smiled, a slow shy smile.

“Morning Tony, here for the roof,” he pointed upwards for emphases.

Tony nodded returning the smile, “Have at it.”

Steve gave him a small wave disappearing around the house Tony listened as the ladder clanked against the wall the sound of Steve moving up them.

Tony left the window then returning to the desk once more glaring at his screen. He vaguely heard the sound of footsteps on the roof above him, a rhythmic scrape and shuffle, as Steve pulled up rotting shingles.

Shuffle, scrape, thump…Tony rolled his eyes upwards eyebrows rising in interest that was a rather scary noise if he didn’t know it was he would be rather freaked out.

“I would be worried,” he mumbled eye returning to the screen, “If something was on the roof…on an island…far away…” his fingers began to dance over the keys.

Tony’s grumbling stomach brought him back to reality, blinking tired eyes he glanced at the clock on his computer. It was 12:30 and his indigent insides were reminding him that he had forgotten about breakfast that morning.

Saving his progress, he moved out of the study stretching his protesting back as he went. Pausing in the bedroom he tugged on a pair of faded loose-fitting jeans before wandered down into the kitchen. Rummaging through the fridge stocked with the promised essentials.

Tony pulled out the ingredients for a sandwich, humming as he made two placing each on a plate adding some potato chips. Grabbing a couple of beers, he headed out to the back deck with his bounty having spotted a table and chairs out there earlier. Setting the food and drinks down he went in search of the resident handyman on the roof.

“Steve?” he called, watching for a blonde head to appear over the side of the roof. The day had already turned hot, Tony who had been working in the cool study now began to sweat a little in the heat of the day.

A shaggy head appeared over the roof, the light hair haloed in the sun.

“Come down for some lunch,” Tony called with a wave. The other gave a nod before he was disappearing from sight. Tony waited as Steve descended, eyes widening as the man got closer, he was most definitely shirtless now, bronzed skin glistening with sweat.

Tony couldn’t help the wry smile that crossed his face, he felt like he was in some sort of bad erotica novel, any minute Steve was going to throw him against the side of the house, and declare his undying love before ravishing him. Or at least Tony could hope.

Steve pulled his beater out of his back pocket moping his face and neck, “Hot today,” he offered by way of explanation. Tony nodded mutely, not trusting himself to not say something embarrassing.

Turning they made their way to the back deck, and Tony’s waiting lunch.

“How’s the roof coming?” Tony queried as they sat, Steve, popping the top off a beer, taking a thirsty swig, he sighed in satisfaction.

“Pretty good, the whole back end is rotted out though, think I’m going to need more shingles,” he mumbled looking down at his hands blackened from the work.

“Would it be ok if I used your sink?” he asked softly.

Tony nodded waving him in, hazel eyes watching him go. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he was here to write, he wasn’t he to ogle the really, handsome, really charming handyman. “Get it to together Stark,” he mumbled popping a chip in his mouth.

As Steve returned settling in and starting to eat his sandwich, sharp eyes could see that despite the good scrubbing his hands got they were still fairly black with tar, and the nails were very short probably bitten if he missed his guess. They were strong and callused Tony knew from the firm handshake they had shared yesterday.

“How long do you think it will take?” Tony asked trying to make conversation.

"Friday should be done by then," he said firmly looking resolute.

"It's ok if it takes longer Steve, no rush I’m here all summer,” he gave the other man a smile before the ate, enjoying the warm summers day.

-#-#-#-

Those first five days took on a similar pattern, Tony would awake pale, weak, and sweaty from his nightmares, unable to remember more than small snippets. Dazed he would wander to the study and work, listening for Steve to pull in and head to the roof.

At noon Tony would make lunch, and the pair would chat for an hour before Steve would get back to the roof and Tony would write. He enjoyed the handymen’s company, Steve was very insightful and much to Tony’s surprise a horror nut like himself. They spent a lot of time discussing movies and books they had read, and Tony found himself very much looking forward to his afternoon chats. By Friday he was wondering if it was possible to spend more time together then an hour.

Friday evening rolled around and Tony made a point of being downstairs waiting for Steve to finish. There was a tentative knock at the screen and Tony clad in torn jeans and old band shirt answered it.

“Hey Steve, and the verdict is?” He wiggled his eyebrows comically. A dirty, sweaty Steve broke out in a grin, Tony loved to see the man smile. Steve had the cutest dimple, but it was rather elusive.

“Done!” He grinned, looking very pleased with his work.

“That’s good news,” Tony smiled, but it felt sort of strained and forced. He didn’t want Steve to stop coming, “So what now?”

Steve took off his hat wiping sweat from his brow, “Now I’m out of your hair, and barring any catastrophes you will only have to see me Saturday to mow the lawn.”

Tony hesitated, “So you’re coming up tomorrow?”

Steve nodded, “I have about 20 lawns I rotate through, Salts Hill is so large it takes me a couple of hours so I usually do it Saturday mornings." 

Tony bit his lip looking into the clear blue eyes, uncertainly, “Are you doing anything Saturday afternoon?”

Steve looked thoughtful, “Well I do my groceries for the week.”

Still looking tentative Tony mentally braced himself, “Could I maybe come? I mean if that’s ok? I need some stuff too, and I don’t really know anybody or anything…” He trailed off trying to get too hopeful, he'd barely known the man a week.

“Sure, no problem, after I finish the grass, we can head into town.”

Tony tried to play it cool and casual, but inside he was flipping out, “Great, well I guess we will see you tomorrow…”

Steve nodded, pulling his weathered cap back on with a small salute, “Will do.”

With that Tony watched him go, whistling through his teeth out to his truck and on-off down the drive. As he disappeared from sight Tony felt a chill, a soft breeze that swept right through him.

He turned back to the house, looking so very dark…the yawning mouth of the door…and for a fraction of a second he thought he saw a shadowy figure in the window of the study. Blinking Tony shook his head and the figure was gone, but for a moment he swore…

“You’re not in one of your books Stark…there are no ghosts in real life.”

He moved back into the house shutting and locking the door behind him.

-#-#-#-

_He stood in the hallway of a house._

_A familiar house…Salts Hill._

_Except it wasn’t._

_He looked around, it was dusk the fading light streaming through the windows told him so. It was late, but not full dark but the house seemed different._

_Gunshots rent the air._

_Tony’s head whipped around. He opened his mouth to call out, but no sound came. There were another rapport and his feet where moving._

_Screaming…crying ….wild laughter._

_Blood smeared the walls of the stairs. So much blood._

_Screaming…another shot…then silence._

_Sick, thick silence that settled on the house like a blanket. He froze, not wanting to go further. A weird bubbling sound erupted from his throat. He coughed, raising his hands, hot warmth trickling from his mouth._

_Scared he looked down blood….running from his mouth, from the wound in his chest._

_He fell to his knees. One bloody hand running down the wall._

Tony woke gagging, pale and sweating he sat in bed shaky fingers touching his face…the dream had been so vivid so, real. He licked his lips, tasting faintly metallic…

-#-#-#-

Across the island, in a small cottage, Steve Rogers looked up sharply from the book he was reading. A rash of goose flesh covering his body, as he glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand; it was a little past midnight.

He looked back to his worn copy of _Run_ sliding the torn piece of paper he was using for a bookmark into place. He felt uneasy, and it had nothing to do with the novel. Sighing he rubbed tired eyes, maybe he was simply paranoid. Bucky told him he read way too many horror novels, but he liked Tony… more than he probably should. The man was witty, charming, and nothing at all liked he’d pictured of the famous novelist.

He knew the stories were just that, but he could help but worry about the man all alone at Salts Hill.

-#-#-#-

Tony was awakened by the sound of a lawnmower powering up, hazel eyes felt dull and gritty. The sheets clung to his sweat-slick body in a most unappealing way, and dark hair was plastered to his head. Standing he padded to the bathroom, struggling to remember bits and pieces of the nightmare.

_Gunshots…screaming…blood_.

Shaking his head, he started the shower as he tried to push the thoughts away, lathering his hair. The nightmares were worrying him, he’d always had nightmares. Night terrors specifically, the doctors had told his parents once. They’d only got worse after they’d died in a car accident.

“No,” he said aloud, shaking his head as if he could shuffle those melancholy thoughts further back.

“Not today…today I have a date,” he smiled thinly, he knew it wasn’t really a date. His smile turned wan, as he finished cleaning up and stepped out wrapping a large fluffy red towel around himself. He moved slowly to the sink wiping the condensation from the mirror he stared at his reflection. He looked pale despite his normally swarthy complexion, dark smudges under his eyes.

He closed dark eyes, taking a deep breath before slowly opening them again, he wanted to look good today, for his non-date. Tony smiled turning away, he walked back into the bedroom dropping the towel and pulling on a clean pair of boxer briefs. Moving to the window he leaned out to inhale the soft, salty sea breeze.

Despite himself, his eyes were drawn to the figure riding the tractor, Steve whipping the red machine around the property like a seasoned pro. That gave Tony a real smile, he hadn’t come to Summers Folly looking for romance.

Hell, he had never had much luck at romance department.

A runty, to thin, too smart for his own good child, he had spent his life looking for love, acceptance from his parents. They had died when he was young, leaving him penniless and alone. He’d ended up living in shelters, and on the street, living hand to mouth. It was not the place to find love, a place for sex, perversion, and degradation yes…especially for a young boy who had recently realized his taste ran to the male gender.

Hazel eyes closed, Tony inhaled deeply, he had been in love once or so he thought he had. A boy slightly older then himself, he’d had been so beautiful, the face of an angel…that hid a terrifyingly twisted soul. One that had taught him the pain of ridicule and rejection.

That had been his one and only brush with romance, an experience that had left him raw and unsure. While the world was somewhat accepting, it was still a scary place and one where you needed to be warier then not. He really liked Steve, he had become a good friend, and he hoped that maybe…but if not he wanted to keep him as a friend. 

“Having some heavy thoughts for it being so early…” he muttered to himself, turning away from the window it was going to be a hot day.

-#-#-#-

Outside Steve Rogers made his rounds on the tractor, going a little faster than he normally would. He has almost finished the larger part of the yard, and afterwards it would simply be the trimming. He was eager to be done, after all, he had a date.

Steve tried to fight back a grin, he knew it wasn’t a _date_ but still. He really liked Tony, he was smart, funny, and the fact that he was really good looking did hurt. He whipped around the house cutting as close as he could. He shouldn’t get so worked up, he had no idea if Tony was interested in anything more than being friends.

Steve had had girlfriends and boyfriends in the past but he’d never been in love. He’d been dumped a fair share; the military life was tough on relationships. He’d joined the military after high school, they’d paid his way through school. Bucky had gone with him, and they served three tours together before returning to the island and settling into the quiet life.

He finished the main lawn he returned the tractor back to his trailer, before grabbing the string trimmer, heading back to the porch, he pulled the clutch ripping the cord as the engine choked to life.

-#-#-#-

In the kitchen, Tony looked up as the tractor stopped and several minutes later, he heard another slightly more whiney engine. He sat quietly in the kitchen eating his cereal as he read one of the books he’d found in the small library. The steady hum outside was comforting, it meant someone else was nearby…that he wasn’t alone. Finishing his breakfast, he continued reading until the noise outside stopped and shortly thereafter was a knock at his door. Excited he tried to play it cool, managing to not to smile too widely. He opened the screen to a grass-stained Steve.

“All done?” Tony smiled.

The other man nodded, “Yes sir, ready?”

Tony nodded headed out of the dark house, and into the bright sunlight.


	3. Small Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter whoooo, maybe can get the rest up by weeks end, have some big dreams lol.

* * *

Tony felt better.

The nightmares, the heavy memories of his past seemed to drift away as they drove away from the house. For the first time in a long while, Tony felt more like his old self. Closing dark eyes, he sighed, it felt like freedom cruising with Steve down the Seaside road.

“Hope you don’t mind a quick stop at my place, just need to drop the trailer and grab some fresh clothes," he said flashing that sweet smile again. Tony simply grinned it was such a beautiful day and the company…he didn't mind being in Steve's company as long as he could. 

Tony watched the scenery whip absently until they pulled into a short gravel drive, “Steve this is where you live?”

“Yup, you like?” He asked softly.

Tony could only nod; it was love at first sight, and Tony sincerely believed that. It was considerably smaller than Salts Hill, two floors but quaint. Ivy ran up the side of the house encircling the large, red, front the door. It looked like something out of a novel.

Steve expertly manoeuvred the truck around, backing the trailer into a rather large garage beside the house. Tony barely noting so enamoured with the house.

“Would you like to come in for a moment? I just need to change quickly." Tony nodded eagerly, sliding out of the passenger side. Steve was rounding the truck to unhitch his trailer, while Tony stepped out of the garage enchanted with the view. Steve’s house was on the edge of the island, at the outermost reach of land. He could see water on three sides, and set admits the endless blue was Steve’s beautiful house.

“Come on in,” Steve’s voice pulled Tony back from his musing as he turned to follow the big blonde disappearing into the house. Tony couldn’t help it, his mind already writing; the quiet cottage…that hid a terrible secret, the blood-red door….he smiled softly stepping across the threshold. This island was speaking to him, images and stories waiting to be writing. For the first time in a long while, Tony was getting ideas.

Steve’s house, however, was not something out of a horror novel it was homey and inviting as he crossed the threshold inside, hooking his aviators on his shirt. The kitchen and dining room were attached, and Tony spotted a screened-in porch on the back of the house. The big-screen TV in the living room and large DVD shelf confirmed Steve’s taste in horror and action movies.

Tony grinned moving beyond these to investigate a large number of books shelves circling around the room. Lovecraft, Wells, Matheson, the fathers of horror, King, Bourne, and Brooks the chuckled at the last. He was also a fan of _The Zombie Survival Guide._ He spotted his own books as well, two were sitting on the corner of the coffee table his second and third novels; _Days End_ and _Mourning_ respectively. He picked up _Mourning_ flipping through the worn pages.

“My favourite is _Run.”_

Tony looked up at the softly spoken words, Steve stood before him blushing slightly. He had changed, into a clean grey tee, and well-worn blue jeans, and on his hip, something that looked like a pager. His hat was gone, and a pair of Oakley’s sat atop blonde locks.

Tony couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped his lips as he set the book back down.

“Mine too,” he agreed, _Run_ was the only book he’d written that had truly scared him.

"I love your place, Steve, it speaks.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, looking a little confused, “Ummm thanks?”

Tony laughed, full hearty, wondering why he felt so oddly giddy when not so long ago he’d been…trapped.

“Sorry, some things I see really inspire ideas and your house is really amazing.”

Steve half-smiled about that "I will take that as a compliment, ready to go?" 

Tony nodded, and the pair headed out of the house, Tony noting Steve didn’t lock the door.

“No lock?”

Steve pushed his sunglasses down in the bright sun of the afternoon, raising an amused eyebrow “Not on the island no.”

Tony shook his head in disbelief he was a long way from the city.

Getting back in the truck the pair headed back down the road, towards town. The sun was high, and there was little traffic on the road. Even as they pulled onto the main street, there seemed so few people out.

“Is it always this quiet?” He asked curiously, trying to reconcile this place with the hustle and bustle of the city he knew.

Steve shook his head, “Only before the summer really gets going, we start getting tourist soon. Cottage rentals mostly, day-trippers from the city who come for the beaches.”

“Is there a lot? Of tourists, I mean.”

“Oh sure, our whole economy relies on summer tourism.”

They had entered High Street the main street of Summers Folly. Steve driving slower pointing out the window as they went.

“The groceries, and Cecile’s stay open year-round. There’s one bar in town _The_ _Fiddler_ and it’s only open during the summer same with these little boutiques, and knick-knack stuff." He pointed to a row where ‘closed for season’ signs hung in the now dusty windows.

“Now it’s quiet but in a couple of weeks it will pick up on weekends and before too long my days will consist of mowing lawns, the odd call from high-end rentals who dropped their wedding bands down their bathroom sinks.”

Tony laughed at that, “So you have the market cornered here on handyman and landscaping?”

“Well not quite, there are a couple of others on the island, but Bucky has the most properties on the island and I have a contract with him to look after all the properties.”

“Business good then?”

“Not too bad.”

They pulled up in front of the store and got out of the truck still chatting. Tony was genuinely interested in learning about the community of Summers Folly. Something about this place…

As they moved through the store, Tony was amused and curious at just how many people stopped to talk to Steve. They’d chat idly for a few moments before usually asking him to stop by and look at a leak or an issue with the electrical. Steve would always nod pull out a small notepad, with a small pencil stuck in the wire at the top. He would make a note of the request and agree to stop by. It took a good two hours to finally get all their supplies and through the checkout.

"Hey, Steve how’s it going?” the blonde at the checkout snapped her gum as she rang him through.

“Fine,” he muttered, not really looking at her. Tony was curious, from what he’d seen Steve was pleasant with everyone.

“I hear you been out working on that creepy old shack on the hill.”

Steve rolled his eyes, Tony’s curiosity grew.

“Sure,” he said non-committal.

“Urgh, place creeps me out, say you on duty tonight?"

Sighing Steve answered, “Yeah I’m on standby tonight Sharon.”

The blonde looked disappointed, "I was hoping we could, you know go out." She tried to pout but came off looking like she was sucking on a lemon.

“No Sharon, I’m on standby.”

Steve gathered his bags and left the store not looking back, Tony following behind him trying not to grin too wide. Clearly, Sharon had a thing for the big, sweet smiling blonde, not that Tony blamed her.

“Standby?”

Steve nodded, “Yup volunteer firefighter for Summers Folly.”

Tony was duly impressed, “No permanent?”

Steve shook his head, “There is not enough of a city budget for that so there’s just about six of us on call and the Chief.” 

They reached the truck and Steve popped open the large cooler strapped in the back of the truck bed. He put in his bags adding Tony’s as well, safely stowed he shut the lid.

“How about a walk?”

The author made a small bow at the waist, “Anything to procrastinate writing.”

Steve smiled that genuine smile of his, the elusive dimple appearing. Tony wanted to melt into a puddle on the sidewalk. Steve walked them up and down High Street pointing out various shops and telling him about some of the summer residents. Steve was sort of chatty once you got him talking, and he was very knowledgeable about the people and history of the island. Tony could listen to him talk for hours.

“How about some dinner?” Steve asked as they stopped outside the small towns only all year diner.

“Sounds great, I’m starving.”

Entering the pair made their way to a booth, relaxing as the server brought them menus and water.

"Hi, Steve got a friend with you today?”

Steve nodded, “Yeah Carol, this is Tony Stark he’s staying on the house on the hill.” 

Tony smiled giving a little wave, “Nice to meet you, what’ll be boys?”

Steve looked over to Tony, "You need to try the bacon cheeseburger its to die for."

Tony nodded with a grin, “Sounds good, and a couple of beers?” 

Nodding Carol jotted it down heading to the kitchen.

“So, I’ve just about talked your ear off about me and the island all day so what about you?” Steve asked,

Tony shrugged as Carol returned with the beers, “What would you like to know?”

Steve shrugged offering a charming grin, "I don't know just sort of curious I guess, not every day I get to talk with a famous author."

Taking a swig of beer Tony leaned back watching condensation ran down the outside of the bottle. He didn’t like to talk about himself, he didn’t want people to get to close. Yet in this small booth, on a tiny island that you could drive from one side to the other in an hour, and a total year-round population of 500 people; he had never felt more at home.

“I wrote my first novel on pieces of paper I found in dumpsters, and trashcans on the back of other things. The whole last chapter was on napkins from a coffee house.” Tony sighed looking up at wide blue eyes staring at him from across the table.

“After my parents died when I was sixteen, I spent a lot of time in and out of foster homes, being bounced in the system.” Their food came and Steve listened raptly as Tony talked. Living on the street for 2 years, writing a novel with pencil and paper no less, in a world where technology seemed to dominate everything.

“This has got to be the best burger,” he mumbled in bliss Steve laughed, “What about you Mr. Rogers handyman?”

Steve swallowed, "Suppose it's only fair, my story is rather boring by comparison." He took another bite of his burger, "Lived on the island my whole life until I graduated high school joined the military, they put me through art school and I gave them three tours.”

Tony’s grinned faded a bit, that couldn’t have been easy, “Thank you, for your service.”

Steve waved it away, finishing his burger whipping his mouth with the napkin and starting in on his French fries. “When my discharge came through I came back here, guess you could say I'm a small-town boy at heart."

“What about all the Mr Fixit stuff? Last I heard that’s not a course at art school.”

Steve laughed, “Nope your right, always just been good with my hands. Whatever I don’t know I learn to do.”

Tony nodded thoughtfully, "You have an interesting tale Mr Rogers it may inspire a character in my new story.”

Large blue eyes looked at him in excitement, “You mean it?”

Tony laughed, “I will share a little secret with you, any other who says they make up everything is talking bullshit. Art always imitates life.”

Steve looked fascinated, “Really?”

Tony looked around the small dinner, in a sort of retro 50’s style, his eyes floating around the area until they landed on the corpse of trees just outside the window.

Just off the high street, the tangle of vegetation was dark and foreboding, in his mind’s eye, Tony can see a pale hand reaching from the dark green. A silent mouth opens in terror, begging for help, horror keeping the voice away. He described the scene to Steve half picturing the moment as he spun his small story.

“It sort of starts with a very specific visual then I move outwards adding more.” Tony smiled looking wistful, “Or at least it usually works like that, I haven’t written anything worthwhile in months.”

He frowned at his coffee, flanking outside at the now fading light.

"Writer's block?" Steve asked softly.

Tony grimaced, “Yes and no, I mean I can write but nothing scares me. My other books scared me, _Run_ especially.”

Steve nodded slowly, “Well I hope Summers Folly sparks something.”

Tony smiled looking at the man he'd all but bared his soul to, "I hope so too." 

Looking back later at this moment Tony would wonder with irony if Steve had always known something he didn’t. He’d also wonder if Steve was somehow prophetic when all was said and done; but for now, he enjoyed the company and the evening.

The bill came shortly afterwards, followed by a brief skirmish as to who would pay. Steve won out, Tony only relenting with the promise that next time he would pay. As Steve handed over the cash to Sam the proprietor of the small diner, the pager on his belt suddenly beeped. Groaning he tugged it up, glancing at it.

"On-call tonight Steve?” Sam asked, looking far too happy.

The tall man sighed, “Yup better see what Maria wants.”

Tony followed him out with a questioning gaze, “You got a call?”

Steve nodded moving back up the street to his parked truck, “Yeah Maria Hill is dispatch for the fire department, my radio is in the truck going to call in.”

Opening the vehicle, he grabbed the handset, “Maria this is Steve, what’s the story? Over.”

Tony leaned in the open window casually, noticing how striking Steve looked the twilight.

"Hey, Steve got a call from Mrs Miller, over.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, “What’s wrong now, over.”

“Says there’s fire on the Southside Beach, over.”

“Fire or smoke? Over.”

“Smoke, so far as I can tell, over.”

"I'll go swing around and take a look, over and out."

The radio went quiet and Steve replaced the handset, “Feel like going for a drive?”

Tony nodded feeling rather excited, big things on the island tonight. They jumped in the truck and headed the opposite direction from Salts Hill to the other side of the island.

“Mrs Miller is an older lady who had nothing better to do then be nosey," Steve explained as they turned off the main road and on an unpaved one bumping towards the water.

"I'm guessing it some teenagers having a beach party," he shot Tony a grin, “This is where we always had ours. It’s not illegal but there is a burn ban on due to the dry spell we are having.”

The sun was a bloody slash across the horizon now, as they crested a dune and sure enough there was a bonfire merrily burning away. Shutting the truck down Steve stepped out, Tony close on his heels, wanting to see what was going to happen. It was almost like one of the horror movies he loved so much. Where the town Sherriff comes out to stop the young adolescents from having ‘fun’ and inevitably leading to their demise.

“Hey guys,” Steve greeted coming up on the ten or so bodies lounging in the cool evening sand, “Got a call out tonight, there is a burn ban on.”

There was a chorus of groans, "You're all set up here, so just let you know next time call us and we'll issue a burn permit."

There was another chorus of yes and thanks before the two men departed letting the kids get back to whatever it was adolescents did on a small island on a Saturday night.

“What about Mrs Miller?” Tony asked as they headed back onto the main road, “She’s a nosey old bat, the kids aren’t hurting anyone.”

Tony laughed as the trundled back into town heading towards Salts Hill.

The leisurely, beautiful day was suddenly fading away as they turned into the drive heading towards the hill. Tony swallowed thickly, a sense of dread settling on him as they stopped before the house.

“Thanks for today Steve,” Tony mumbled looking at the house in trepidation.

“No problem,” Steve sounded as subdued as he felt.

“Will I see you again?” Tony winced as the question came out sounding rather needy.

“Of course, I’ll be back on Saturday for the lawn…and if something goes wrong by all means call.”

Steve handed over his groceries as they stood outside the looming house. It was full dark now, the crickets chirping in the warm evening, Tony felt a small shiver catch him as he smiled at the other man.

“Yeah, thanks Steve,” with a nodded he headed slowly inside, part of him wishing Steve would call him back, take him away from here.

Tony watched him drive away though trying not to feel suddenly abandoned, fighting the urge to call him back, to get away to be free of this oppressiveness. Turning to look down the dark hallway he slowly walked deeper in the ominously silent house on the hill.


	4. Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, slow going through this I'm on summer holidays and spending a lot of time doing nothing. Hard to get up the motivation, also working on another part to my Winter Steve collection it's a time travel one and I am super stoked! For now, enjoy!

* * *

_The house was older._

_Slowly he walked down the hall, the same hallway, always the same hallway. It seemed to stretch on endlessly._

_Screaming…he heard screaming._

_Turning quickly, he tried to move his legs, only now they refused to cooperate, he was stuck in place. A woman ran past him, too quick to see her face clearly. Her dress was red, blood red, she was terrified and he had no idea why._

_He heard a man’s voice, followed by a cry of pure rage; he was coming for her._

_Tony tried to yell a warning, to get to her to help her. She made it no further than the top of the stairs. A shotgun blast caught through the chest. He watched helplessly as she sailed through the air, hitting the stairs once, twice, before coming to rest at the bottom where she lay motionless._

_The man was laughing… it was a deranged noise, that echoed in his head._

_Tony clapped his hands over his ears trying to block out the wretched, evil sound. Dark eyes closed, and he fell to his knees. He wanted to get away, be free of that sound but the laughter went on._

_Suddenly he smelt it. Smoke, he opened his eye immediately there was fire._

_He moaned silently he knew the house was on fire. He could feel the heat on his arms, licking up the stairs towards where he knelt. His head felt it was going to split apart when the screaming began again._

_Tony’s last conscious thought was for the women at the bottom of the stairs; she hadn’t been dead after all._

Tony woke in the darkness a scream in his throat, his body overheated and head throbbing. He moaned stumbling to his feet and into the bathroom where he heaved whatever was left in his stomach into the toilet. Gripping the bowl, he vomited until he had nothing left, dry heaves finally subsiding as he sobbed softly. Flashes of the nightmare danced through his overwhelmed mind, lingering and vivid.

Standing shakily, he gripped the sink for support as he looked at his pallid face in the mirror. It was the third week of his stay in Salts Hill. Three weeks of horrendous nightmares, that left him sick and scared. He’d never had nightmares like this, even on his worst days on the streets they had never been this bad. He was terrified to close his eyes…

He moved slowly back to his bedroom curling up as small as possible under his sheet, shivering as the cool salt breeze blew across his sweaty body.

Dark eyes closed slowly before opening again, Tony vainly trying to fight off sleep. His exhausted body was pulling him towards slumber once more, and into that nightmarish world of horror.

-#-#-#-

He came awake instantly, the sound of the lawn mower bringing him to consciousness. It was the sound of salvation. His third Saturday on this island, and his favourite day of the week. It was the day Steve would come, and he would take him away from this place, and for a moment he would be free of this….this house.

Tony uncurled himself slowly, standing on shaky legs as he made his way into the shower to get ready. Steve would be done in about two hours and they would go into town for groceries and food. Today though Tony wanted information.

Setting his jaw, he looked absently in the mirror; she was standing behind him…Tony closed his eyes tight counting to four before opening them again; he was alone once more.

Gasping he shook his head, too little rest was all. He wasn’t getting enough sleep. He stepped into the shower then trying to clear his head, holding onto the thought he was getting out today.

-#-#-#-

Steve locked the tailgate in place, stuffing his work gloves in his pocket as he wiped his forehead it was almost July, and they were predicting the hottest summer on record. Which meant that the tourists were going to be arriving soon, Bucky had had him opening cottages all week. Steve had been busy from dawn until well into the night.

He sighed looking back at the huge mansion on the secluded hill, he was worried. He was worried about Tony more than anything, being in that house alone all the time. He went into town once a week with him on Saturday but other than that… he never left the house.

The author had been three weeks living there on his own. As Steve stood staring, a gaunt pale figure appeared on the porch with a wave. Steve’s heart broke a bit, Tony hadn’t been looking well. He was pale and thin, dark rings circled his eyes, dark eyes sort of hazy and confused. Steve wanted to get him away from the house, off the hill… but he said nothing though, simply waved back smiling.

As they rumbled down the road to town Tony spoke softly about his latest book, in a sort of odd emotionless tone. Steve listening attentively to the plot, it sounded outside of Tony’s normal stories; psychological horror was his wheelhouse. The slow descent into madness of a teenage male lost in a maze of urban streets and his own mind. It had been powerful, compelling…this new story was different, the madness was there, yet outside forces were lurking. 

“He is seeing them, everywhere…yet he needs to know, cannot leave well enough alone…” he murmured frantically pulling out a pad of paper he jotted in the small notebook muttering to himself. Steve was worried.

Pulling up in front of the store the big man finally voiced his concern, “You ok?” Hesitantly he gently touched the smooth pale skin of the others arm. Tony all but leapt off the seat staring at him as if he was seeing him for the first time.

“What? Yes?” he mumbled, shaking his head and looking off into the distance.

“You want to come in?” Steve offered softly, worry growing by the moment.

Tony looked at him slowly shaking his head, “Could you? I need to do something…to look for something.”

Steve was at a loss, “Sure Tony,” he said softly.

He was out of the truck then, quicker then Steve would have thought he was capable of as sick as he looked. Steve watched as he strode away down the street, having a vague sort of idea where he was headed. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw him veer towards a small brick building set back from the boardwalk; the library. Shaking his head, he pulled his bags out heading to get some supplies.

-#-#-#-

Tony stepped out of the warm sun and into the dimness of the library. He blinked adjusting to the change in light.

“Hello there,” a woman greeted standing behind the counter smiling at him, “Can I help you with anything?”

Tony was slow to process her question his mind was feeling muzzy with lack of sleep, “Yes, sorry the archives?”

She nodded pointing to a small back room, “In there, holds the complete history of Summers Folly.”

Nodding his thanks, he walked slowly over, not missing the curious gaze of the librarian.

-#-#-#-

“Steve!”

Turning the big man, spotted a familiar figure heading towards him, “Buck,” he acknowledged. His longtime friend was the man was dressed impeccably in his suit despite the heat, “I was going to give you a call but this is better. Have a second?”

Sighing he glanced towards the library, before focusing on his friend, “Sure what’s up?”

-#-#-#-

Tony hunched over the old wooden table eyes straining to read the faded newsprint. He thought he had finally found what he was looking for.

The story of Salts Hill was proving elusive. He had had to go way back; to the beginning. He had learned the house had been built by a man named Fredrick Salt in the late 1800’s. A rich man in his own right, he had bought the property, to build a fabulous house. Dark eyes glanced at the grainy black and white photo, on yellowing newsprint. It was much larger than the house now, opulent and grandiose. His lips moved as he read the article aloud to himself;

_“Built for his wife, with hopes to house his family. Fredrick Salts dream met with tragedy, as his mansion caught fire in the early hours of Friday morning. Tragically the tycoon and his wife were trapped inside."_

Tony frowned the next photo was what was left of the house charred remains and all. He recognized the part that hadn’t burned, much of it made up the current house.

"A fire," he muttered flashes of a woman screaming, her hair on fire ripped through his head. He frantically flipped forward in the large scrapbook. He paused as he spotted another headline, _Business Magnet Buys Salts Hill_ the date was August 13, 1935;

“ _Businessman Robert Brouche, and his wife Norma, recently purchased and repaired the old burnt out manor. The pair have two young children, and are looking forward to retiring to the island to raise their young family…”_

He flipped again, “ _Tragedy on Salts Hill…”_ , he mumbled a growing sense of horror growing in his chest.

_“Tragedy struck on the Hill last night, when for unknown reasons Rob Brouche, his wife and two children burned to death in their house. Local authorities are baffled by the horror, the police chief commenting “Mrs Boruche only made it to the stairs…”_

There was a photo of white sheets on the front lawn, Tony felt his chest tighten.

“Am I dreaming of the dead?” he mumbled sitting back in his chair eyes tired and dry. He shook his head, “You’re not seeing anything Tony, they are just nightmares.” He assured himself trying to reaffirm that what was happening wasn’t real.

“There are no such things as ghosts…just in hack horror writing.”

He slammed the book closed, standing, shaking himself of the dark thoughts that wanted to creep in.

“Ok, the house has a tragic past, so what? Just my overactive imagination getting the better of me."

Yes, of course, that was the reason. He was supposed to be writing a horror novel for god sakes. Here away from the house, away from it's oppressive and all-consuming presence, it made complete sense.

“I’m just being silly,” nodding he returned the scrapbook turning to leave. He paused then; maybe he should just make a copy of the news articles, just in case. Quickly using the Xerox machine, he folded the paper stuffing it in his back pocket, trying not to read too much into his actions.

Finished he headed back towards the desk, the librarian smiling at him, “Find what you were looking for Mr Stark?”

He offered her a wan grin, “Please, Tony.”

She seemed thrilled, “I thought I recognized you, would you mind?”

She held out a copy of _Run_ and a pen. Nodding he signed the well-worn copy, handing it back.

“Thank you so much, I’m really looking forward to your new one.”

Tony chuckled, “Me too,” he waved goodbye as he headed back out in the sunlight. The day was already hot, and humid: he took it in.

“I think I’m falling in love,” he breathed looking down the main street, the ocean a glittering horizon. He fancied the streets were busier today, the small shops opening as the proprietors swept out the winter dirt. He smiled to them as he passed a sudden lightness in his step, whistling a simple tune. He spotted Steve leaning on his truck, speaking to a dark-haired man, “Yeah I maybe am falling in love.”

The unknown man smiled at his approach, “You must be Mr Stark.”

Steve turned to look at the man approaching, offering him a smile.

“Please call me Tony, and you are Mr Barnes?” Tony asked extending his hand, nodding the well-dressed man grinned.

“Everyone calls me Bucky, how are you enjoying the stay on our island?”

Tony gave him a genuine grin, “It’s beautiful here.”

Steve chuckled, “We all set Buck?”

Tony watched curiously as the man handed over a folio, "Yup talk to you later Stevie, Tony,” he inclined his head before taking his leave.

“How was the library?” Steve asked as his employer carried on down the boardwalk. 

Tony sighed leaning against the truck, looking off into the distance as he searched for the right words.

“It was informative.”

Steve hummed in agreement as they watched the people pass on the strip. 

“Steve, can I ask a favour?"

-#-#-#-

Tony sighed in utter contentment, “Steve you have the best place on the island.”

They were lounging at the small beachfront area behind Steve’s house. Laughing Steve settled back in his lounger, the small cooler between them full of beer, and snacks. Tony recognized he was being a little selfish, but he really hadn’t wanted to return to that house. He wanted to forget about his nightmares, and about his writing. He wanted to relax…more specifically relax with Steve.

The afternoon faded away in a blur of easy conversation and laughter. Steve was witty, intelligent, and an excellent listener.

“Dinner?” he asked and Tony nodded, feeling giddy and lightheaded from the beer or from the company he wasn’t sure. Steve expertly barbequed steak and potatoes, Tony couldn't recall having a better meal. He lavished compliments on Steve’s cooking.

“It’s nothing really,” the other insisted modestly.

Tony, however, had learned long ago the value of food, when you had none you learned to appreciate what was given to you…and were not picky about it. They sat on the back deck, watching the ocean toss and turn as they ate, a cool breeze cooling their sun-warmed skin. 

“How’s the writing going?” Steve finally asked, taking and bite of his meat.

Tony sighed taking a sip of his beer, “Well I am writing…but I don’t really think it’s all that good.”

Steve snorted, “You’re critically acclaimed best selling author…”

Laughing Tony saluted him with his beer bottle, “Touché.”

Steve shrugged, “I know nothing about writing, but from some of the books I’ve read maybe you should just keep writing what you know?” He offered tentatively, “I know it sounds super cliché, but all the best books stories I’ve read are by author’s who lived what they wrote… including yourself. You wrote _Run_ when you were living on the street didn't you?"

Tony looked at Steve, the man was blushing badly and Tony couldn’t help the fond smile that stretched his lips. 

“You’re right Steve,” he said softly, “I have been trying to hard to get back to where I was when I wrote _Run_ …but I’m not…” He struggled to find the right words. “I’ve changed.”

They changed the subject then and his writing wasn’t brought up again, but that brightness had gone. That strange, inexplicable depression settled on him again, and as they tidied the kitchen Tony knew it was time to return to Salts Hill.

“You could stay…” Steve offered as they drove slowly back.

Tony raised an eyebrow with a half smile.

Steve sputtered turning red, “I didn’t mean…” he trailed off flushing deeply.

“I know, and thank you for the offer but I think I have to go back.”

Tony could almost feel himself withdraw as they approached the dark ominous building rearing up on the hill like some long-forgotten horror.

“Thank you for today Steve, I needed it,” he could feel the words sticking in his throat.

The big man smiled, “Anytime.”

Tony gave him one last half grin as he headed towards the house he had just crossed the threshold when Steve’s worried voice stopped him, “Call me Tony…day or night…” he trailed off.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice carrying on the sudden wind, as the door to the house closed behind him with a bang.

-#-#-#-

Steve shivered watching, as a light turned on further inside the house, he sighed, every fibre of his being was screaming to keep Tony with him. Look after him…

He jumped when his radio crackled to life, “Steve you there? Over.”

He picked up the handset, “Yeah I’m here what’s up? Over.”

There was a crackle and for a moment Steve thought he heard a woman screaming in that static, and a faint popping like firecrackers. He stared at the handset, was someone in trouble?

“One of the cottages is complaining of a smell of gas in the house you go check it out? Over.”

He nearly came out of his skin as Hill came back, gasping he shook head glancing at the house once more. He put the truck in drive and headed out towards the road, “No problem, what the address? Over.”

-#-#-#-

_He was at the top of the stairs again, his heart trying to beat out of his chest._

_He turned, he was in Salts manor, he was sure of it, but it was different again. He frowned, fear ripped through him and he heard the screaming…it was children. A sob erupted from his throat as the soul-wrenching noise was silenced by a pop, pop. Gasping he willed his feet to move, but they wouldn’t. His limbs were unwilling to cooperate._

_Someone was running then, and a women’s voice high with terror weeping and pleading. She rounded the corner heading right for him._

_Tony watched as she looked back, her face a tear streaked mess, she was wearing a nightshirt stained a brownish red._

_“Oh please no…" she wept, the figure behind her hefted a shotgun. Without pause, he shot._

_Tony convulsed as she did, sputtering as she did, metallic blood filling his mouth. With a grunt, she folded to the floor caught midflight skidding across the hardwood._

_Laughter then, the smell of gas._

_Tony slid to the floor beside the women, her face a pale mask, eyes wide. He heard the click of a lighter, and then the heat rising around him. The bright yellow flames licking at the women’s hair, her dead face staring at him; until those bloodied lips moved. No words where spoken, but Tony understood._

_‘Help us…’_

He woke with a cry, dripping sweat, chest heaving in horror. Trembling hands ran through matted hair. He remembered…remembered in vivid detail. The children screaming…the women…her plea to him.

The clock on the bedside read three in the morning. Slowly on weak, trembling legs, he got out of bed heading towards the study. Passing by the stair, he could almost hear the women again, crying, her hitting the floor with a meaty thump.

Breathing as if running he sat before his computer, sweat-soaked and dazed. Opening a new word document, his fingers flying as he used every last ounce of his repertoire to capture the images swimming in his nightmare soaked mind.


	5. Stairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working my way through this one, now that the other one is finished I can focus on this one. I did like this one, I wish my writing had been better at the time but hey practice right? So I shall continue on.

* * *

The alarm came too early for the big figure lying sprawled across his bed. 

“No…” moaned, he’d been having a spectacular dream. Strong fingers buried in his hair, long lean limbs wrapped around him, and cries for him to go faster, harder, echoed in his head. Steve looked at the alarm, eyes bleary, and a throbbing erection pressing into his mattress.

“Damit…” grumbling he rose, giving the alarm a good smack for good measure. Sleepily he trudged his way to the shower, trying to hold onto the feeling of that slim form pressed to his own. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture that beautiful face twisted in ecstasy. Groaning he reached down grabbing his throbbing length, thrusting roughly into his fist he pictured Tony Stark arching into him, begging for him, pleading for it. He came like a train wreck, spilling into his hand and allowing the water to wash it away.

Feeling a little guilty for having fantasy’s about the author he finished washing up, it was Saturday morning after all, and he had Salts Hill to mow, and then, hopefully, he would get to spend some time with the slender dark-haired man.

Whistling Steve got ready for the day, tugging on well-worn jeans, and a permanently stained grey t-shirt, he was almost out the door when his cell buzzed. He recognized the number right away.

"What's uBuck?”

"Glad I caught you, Stevie, I’ve got a couple emergencies that need tending too.”

Sighing Steve fished out his pad and pen, “Alright go ahead.”

Listening he wrote as Bucky rhymed off the various issues with some of the rental properties. Backed up plumbing, leaky taps, broken decks, even spider issues.

“Sorry Stevie, you know the drill, start of the tourist season.”

Sighing the handyman, agreed, “Ya I know, just usually Saturdays I take Tony to get his groceries…”

His friend laughed, “Oh it’s Tony, now is it?”

Steve felt a grin pull his lips, “Shut up, alright I’m on it.”

They said their good-byes, and Steve list in hand, headed out to get started on what promised to be a hell of a summer season…if only he had known how prophetic his thoughts would be.

-#-#-#-

July had come and for the island community of Summers Folly it meant big business, the sweltering months of summer saw a significant influx of those seeking to escape the city and this year promised to be especially hot. The weather channel was predicting record highs this year, and those who made their money on vacationers were eagerly looking forward to it.

Across town, however, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the main road, surrounded by thick trees that kept the looming house in a perpetual state of dimness, author Tony Stark was in a world of his own. If he’d been more himself he would have realized that he’d been on the island for a month.

Shirtless Tony stood in the small study, currently cluttered with printouts, and his own handwritten notes. He mumbled to himself, scratching absently at his bare chest, his ribs almost visible, pressed taught to pale skin.

His poor state wasn’t anything new, often when he was engrossed in work he forgot to eat, forgot to sleep, to wash even. His writing had oftentimes consumed him, but never like this. As time passed Tony was less and less sure if it was his writing or his nightmares that kept looping in his mind. They were repeating, and he was remembering, more and more.

As soon as he closed his eyes at night he saw them, always the same. They were always at the stair, always the women being chased by the same faceless, laughing man. The gunshots, the blood, then the smell of flesh burning as they and the house where consumed. Three different women, three different periods, but always Salts Hill.

Kneeling slowly, he pulled rough sketches towards him, he was no artist but he had made an attempt to depict the women. All of them very different, although each wore a similar expression of terror on their face. There was a connection here, he just couldn’t see it. 

Engrossed in his own disjointed thoughts, he missed his long-forgotten cell vibrating on his desk.

-#-#-#-

Steve looked down at his phone with a frown, Tony hadn’t answered, “He’s probably writing,” Steve chastised himself trying not to read too much into it.

Steve had realized about mid-afternoon the problems at the vacation homes were going to take longer than expected. He figured he should leave Tony a message apologizing, and explain that he wasn’t going to be able to make it out today.

Sighing he returned to work, hopefully, he'd get out to the manor tomorrow.

-#-#-#-

“Stevie!”

Arms loaded down with wood, Steve turned towards the voice. Buck had called again; he had called every morning that week. Steve had been trying to get out to Salts Hill for the better part of six days now.

It was Friday afternoon now, and he had told Buck point blank, he would be at Salts Hill tomorrow morning no matter what call came in. Now standing in the busy main street outside the only hardware store in town he was being hailed by the town Sherriff James Rhodes

“Hey Rhodey, what can I do for you?”

Rhodes was the only full-time law enforcement on the island, he had a part-time deputy, Tasha, and during the busy summer months, he usually asked Steve and a couple of the other volunteer firefighters to do double duty as deputies as well. 

“Up to by goddamn eyeballs in shit is what I am, and I don’t need some high fluting publicist calling me to check on some sort of fancy author,” he growled giving Steve a look that would have made a lesser man then he wilt. Rhodes had spent some time in the military as well, and he didn’t suffer fools lightly.

“What’s the problem?”

“That author friend of yours up at the manor? He hasn’t been heard from in a week.”

Steve frowned, he had assumed Tony was maybe too busy to call, absorbed in his work, but no one had heard from him?

“A Virginia Potts called in about an hour ago, wants someone to go up and check on him.” Steve nodded slowly he knew where this was going, “I figured since you were friends you could go check.”

Steve finished tossing in the last of the lumber, the damn repairs could wait, “I’ll go right now.”

Nodding the Rhodey tipped his hat, “Much obliged.”

Steve was already in the truck headed out, a knot of dread in his stomach.

-#-#-#-

_Tony._

The voice was soft, melodious, it called to him. Slowly he stood, his body protesting the movement. He’d been working feverishly, typing as fast as his fingers would allow for god only knew how long. His exhausted malnourished body was shaky and weak.

His phone long-dead lost under a pile of papers, news articles, photos… things he had found online. He had a veritable plethora of information, every mention he could find of Salts Hill. 

_Tony._

The faint call came again, a women’s voice floating through the house. He moved slowly, dreamlike, navigating the haphazard stacks of paper. Bare feet silent on the hardwood as he stepped into the hall.

“Hello?” He called his voice husky with misuse.

_Hello._

The words came back to him, followed by a very feminine laugh, he swallowed thickly. He reached the top of the stairs, the board creaking ominously as he paused, the laughter ceasing as well. His ears filled with his thudding heart Tony stood motionless, tension settling on him as if something was about to happen.

Then all at once, he could hear running feet, laughter, and he was being shoved hard from behind. Gasping, he had no time to scream or yell as he was suddenly he was falling. The world spun crazily as he hit the third step, bouncing, turning and twisting before he hit the floor in a sickening daze.

He tasted blood, and something sharper, a metallic bite of fear in his mouth. His arm hurt unbearably. Blackness was creeping across his vision as hazel eyes fluttered, he looked up at the top of the stair. There was someone there, the bile rose in his throat as the figure shotgun in hand, levelled it at his crumpled form.

Tony knew no more.

-#-#-#-

Steve stopped quickly in a cloud of dust, hurrying up the wide steps towards the shadowed entrance of Salts Hill.

“Tony?” He called as knocking sharply at the heavy wooden door, “Tony it’s Steve, can you hear me?” He paused; silence.

Worried he pulled out his keys, he had a key for all the rental properties. Fingers shaking with slotted the key in hearing the lock turn, but the door wouldn’t budge.

Frowning he tried again pushing harder, grunting with frustration he put his shoulder into it.

Nothing.

“Tony I’m coming in!” He called a warning before he was backing up and kicking in the door, the doorframe gave way and the heavy door swung open.

“Tony?”

He paused in the entranceway listening for any sound of movement, the house was eerily silent. It was oddly cool inside, despite the heat from the day, the air heavy. Worry growing Steve hurried to check the living room and kitchen; nothing, clean, and quiet. Starting to panic he rounded the hallway corner headed for the stair to the second floor when he spotted him.

The unmoving, silent form twisted unnaturally at the bottom of the stair.

“Oh god…” he whispered heart leaping into his throat. He fell to his knees before the man trembling hands feeling for a pulse unsteadily. Holding his breath, he waited, exhaling in shay relief when he felt the steady slow, beat under his fingers. His training took over then and Steve found himself moving without having to think.

Tony was clad in ratty jeans, his skinny frame looking delicate and frail in the small amount of sunlight streaming through the windows. Steve could see his shoulder swelling and the red welts that were no doubt the beginnings of bruises from where he’d hit the stairs.

Steve’s biggest worry was whether or not the smaller man had any internal injuries. As gently as he could She scooped him up, amazed at how thin and gaunt he was. Swallowing thickly, he glanced to the top of the stair, almost dropping Tony when he thought for a moment he saw a figure there.

Blue eyes blinked in disbelief, and it was gone.

Spooked Steve clutched Tony to him, hurrying out that house, and into the safety of the light.

Hurrying to the truck he placed the injured man inside shrugging out of flannel he draped it over Tony tenderly. He moaned then, eyes fluttering, his pallor greyish with pain. Steve took it as a good sign though he was moving.

With shaking hands, he grabbed his radio, “Maria it’s Steve, there’s been an accident call the clinic tell them I’m coming, over.”

Steve jumped in the cab then starting up the truck, before flipping on his green emergency light. Kicking up gravel he gunned it down the driveway not relaxing until he was well away from the shadow of that house.

Speeding down the road he headed to Summers Folly one and only clinic.

They were already waiting for him when he got to the small white building with the red cross on it, both Sheriff Rhodes and the one full-time physician on the island, Dr Bruce Banner. Banner was a middle-aged man who booked no guff off anyone; especially Steve a frequent visitor to the clinic.

“Steve, what happened?" He asked hurrying over, white lab coat almost blinding in the sun. Steve was gently gathering the slender man in his arms again.

“Not sure Doc I found him unconscious at the bottom of the stair though.”

Nodding he pointed to the pristine sheet covered gurney, as they hurried inside. Carefully Steve laid his bundle down; Tony was the same colour as the sheets.

Brisk and confident Doc Banner removed Steve’s plaid as he checked vitals, humming when he saw the bruised and distorted shoulder.

“Steve need your help here, we better put that back while he’s still out.”

Nodding Steve moved to Tony’s side, holding him as the doctor manipulated the distended joint. With sure movements, Bruce pulled and with a pop, and a grunt from Tony and the arm was back in place. Hard part done Steve moved to speak in low tones to Rhodes, as Bruce finished his examine.

-#-#-#-

“You are not making any sense Steve,” a low unknown voice sighed.

Tony was slow to creep back to awareness, he swam hazily to consciences unsure where he was. He knew he hurt though, god everything hurt. Keeping his eyes closed he tried to keep his breathing steady as he came to terms with the pain. 

“I know what I saw Rhodey, there was someone at the top of the stairs…and Tony’s staying there alone.”

He recognized Steve’s voice, feeling a sudden warmth that the man was here, wherever here was.

“You know that house, it’s history…”

The unknown voice cut Steve off, “Damit Rogers, you know better than to talk about it. What if that garbage got out to the tourists eh? Some damn cursed house?”

Steve snorted, “It’s a damn cover-up and you know it, how much more blood we going to have.”

Steve sounded furious, and Tony was fully awake now holding his breath as he listened…they knew about Salts Hill?

He heard a rustle of clothing, then a voice much softer, “Enough Steve, you know as well as I…that house…” the voice trailed off and Tony wished he knew who he was speaking to.

Tony heard movement then soft sounds of someone leaving followed by a door closing, and then silence. It was time to wake up he wasn’t going to hear any more. Moaning faintly, he fluttered his eyes,

“Tony?” He felt a large rough hand take his, “You ok? It’s Steve we’re at the clinic.”

Opening his eyes, he moved trying to put his arm behind him to sit up, this time the moan of pained was not feigned, his ribs protested, and his shoulder screamed. Hissing in sympathy Steve helped him to sit up tucking pillows behind him.

“How did I get here?” he asked throat scratchy and rough.

He smiled gratefully as Steve grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table holding it still as he took a long swallow. 

“I found you at the bottom of the stairs, had to bust in your door to get to you.”

Tony frowned trying to process the information, “You were at the house?”

“Your publicist called the Sherriff he sent me ‘round to check on you,”

“Oh, thanks,” he murmured sipping the water wincing everything hurt.

“Doc says you dislocated your shoulder, cracked three ribs possibly broke one, and are more or less one big bruise. You’ll live though.” Steve tried to joke, but fell flat, “She also said it looks like you’re not eating very well.”

Tony tried to shrug aborting the movement when it hurt like hell, “I get absorbed in my work sometimes I forget.”

Steve frowned, about to open his mouth when another voice spoke.

“Steve stop pestering my patient, he needs time to recover.” A middle-aged man appeared then, hands deep in his lab coat pockets. He was the very image of a small-town doctor from his dark curly hair sprinkled with grey, to his well-worn trainers on her feet.

Sighing Steve glanced at him, “Come on Doc…”

He raised a brow behind his glasses, “Don’t you have something better to do? Mr Stark needs his rest.”

Sighing Steve shot Tony rueful look, “Tony this is Dr Bruce Banner.”

The Doc inclined his head to him, as Steve stood looking reluctant. "I do have some work…you'll be ok till later this afternoon?"

Tony nodded, his lack of sleep suddenly hitting him an afternoon napping sounded very appealing.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured Steve with a smile, but it felt rather brittle on his face. 

Steve moved to leave pausing at the door, “Make sure you call your publicist,” he reminded him before he was gone in a flash of summer sun.

Tony watched him go, feeling unaccountably sad when he was gone. Sighing he glanced down at the sterile blanket in his lap, he wanted Steve to stay. Maybe slide onto this narrow bed with him and hold him close…

“Phone’s by your bedside there, keep it short and get some rest. I’ll wake you for lunch,” Dr Banner's soft voice startled Tony out of his thoughts.

Fighting the blush from his cheeks he nodded, “Thanks, for everything.” He smiled at him moving back into the recesses of his office leaving Tony alone once more. Sighing he glanced around the small room. His thoughts a tangled mess.

“Better call Pep,” he mumbled absently picking up the phone fingers automatically dialling her number.

“Avengers Publishing,” a polite voice spoke at the other end.

“Hi Happy it’s Tony, put me through to Pep?”

There was a pause, “Right away Mr Stark.”

There was a pause before, “Tony!” the voice bellowed in his ear, Tony wincing.

“Pep,” he replied calmly.

“Christ Tony I was beginning to worry you were dead.”

The author sighed, “No, no, no such luck. I’m fine really, just been absorbed in my work.”

That got her attention, “You are? You’re writing?”

“Yes, quite a bit actually…” the fact it was maybe not a novel never seemed to enter into the conversation.

“I’m glad to hear it. How has your month been?”

Tony blinked, taken aback by the question, he had been here a month? Time seemed to move differently here.

“Incredible,” he said in all honesty. “I think I’m falling in love with this place.”

They spoke several moments longer, Tony promising to send a sample chapter over, and Pep filling him in on the upcoming release of the movie _Run_. It was slated for nationwide release at the end of the month.

“There’s a lot of anticipation for it Tony, the critics love it, saying it’s a tribute to your work.”

Tony snorted at that, he had written the script himself, but you never knew how it was all going to work out with the directors taking artistic license.

They said their goodbyes then, Tony trying to stifle a yawn as he hung up the phone. Feeling momentarily guilty he had misled Pepper. He didn’t see the need to tell her about his little spill…it really had no bearing on his writing.

Yawning again, he eased back onto the bed, his sore body pulling him towards slumber. He’d just have a little rest and then he’d feel better.

His nightmares left him blissfully alone.

-#-#-#-

“Mr Stark?”

A gentle voice was pulling him from the realms of quite dark.

“Mr Stark?”

A gentle hand touched his good shoulder, and Tony groaned, not wanting to wake up.

An amused chuckle permeated his subconscious, “You need to eat, and I think a greasy burger would do you a world of good.”

His stomach betrayed him then, rumbling in concurrence, he opened gritty eyes, “I’m up, I’m up.”

Laughing Doc Banner helped him up upright, "How are you feeling?" 

Tony groaned shifting long legs over the bed, “Like I was hit by a truck.”

He smiled pushing his glasses up his nose, "Not far off." The Doc handed him a green scrub shirt then, “Here put this on under Steve’s flannel.”

He helped Tony undo the sling, and pull the garment on, movements efficient and gentle. Tony was thankful, his shoulder hurt like hell. He had dislocated once before, but at the time he hadn’t been able to afford the medical care required to get it fixed. By the time he had, the joint had been permanently damaged. It didn’t surprise him he’d dislocated it again.

Somewhat presentable now, in the green scrub shirt, and Steve’s far to big flannel draped over his smaller frame, he stood barefoot on the cool linoleum.

The doctor hummed, “Think I have some flip flops here in the lost and found,” He mumbled moving to a closet across the room and tossing a pair at him. Tony slipped them on, they were a little too big but nothing he couldn't deal with. when they fit perfectly.

“Apologies I have nothing nicer,” he seemed sincere in his apology, which made Tony quirk a smile. Doc must have assumed he took a lot of time and effort in his clothing. Having grown up having nothing, he’d never put much stock in what he wore. If it remotely fit he was happy, even now despite his modest wealth he still shopped at the discount stores.

He waved away the apology, “This is perfect.”

Doctor Banner gave him a lopsided grin, “All set then?”

Tony nodded, and he turned hanging up his lab coat before moving to hold the door open.

“Shall we get some lunch?”

Tony nodded moving towards the door only to stagger a little when a little dizzy spell hit him. Hurrying to his side Doc looped an arm with his, “Easy, we’ll take it slow.”

Tony, didn’t like hospitals, had an aversion to them since his parents died, but he liked Doc Banner. He was calm and patient, and he didn’t have time for shit.

Heading out of the clinic and into the sunlight, they stepped out onto the street, Tony moving slowly joints stiffly and sore.

“So Mr Stark-”

He cut him off, “Tony, can’t get used to that ‘Mr. Stark' business.”

He smiled, “And I’m Bruce, although mostly around here I go by Doc.”

They passed by a group of loud tourists, garishly dressed and heading for the beach.

“Tony, how are you finding our island?”

Tony found a genuine smile crossing his face, "In all honesty, I'm in love with the place, there is something about…” he trailed off a little embarrassed.

Doc grinned patting his arm, “Glad to hear it.”

They moved at a sedate pace crossing the busy street in companionable silence.

“And what do you think of our firefighter and handyman?" He asked with an air of innocent enquiry. Tony knew he was blushing then, unable to keep the red from crossing pale cheeks.

Bruce laughed then, “I won’t tell, it’s far more entertaining to watch him fumble around.”

“How did you…” he trailed off confused.

Doc looked amused, “I’ve known Steve Rogers his whole life, and before that, I knew his parents.”

Tony blinked, curious, “His parents?”

Bruce nodded, “Oh yes, I went to high school with his mom Sarah, right here on the island. Sarah was a great beauty, and her husband Joe wasn’t half bad either. Steve got good genes." 

Tony wanted to know more, “Was his father an ‘islander’?”

Doc smiled, “No Joseph Rogers was a businessman out of the city, quite wealthy, and very much in love with Sarah.”

Tony smiled to himself, it was a nice picture, a beautiful family. Something stuck in his head though, “You say she was a great beauty?”

Bruce looked sad then, “They died when Steve was a young, car crash a drunk driver, it was a fluke he wasn’t killed as well.”

They walked in silence then moving far slower then the rest of the hustle and bustle, the diner coming into view.

“Steve was brought back here, raised by his grandparents, they doted on that boy. Unfortunately, they too passed away when he was in school.”

Bruce looked sad, "I was surprised he returned here to tell you the truth, so many memories. It's their house he lives in now. The best piece of property on the island I'd argue. I know he's had many, very generous offers for it."

Tony nodded storing the information away; Steve was suddenly more complex in his mind, more real. He was somehow warmed to know that despite the tragedy in his life he’d had a happy childhood.

Their stories were similar, orphaned young…but the divergence of their paths was intriguing. How similar circumstance can produce very separate outcomes. He held the door for Bruce smiling, his chest warmed; this island was defiantly getting to him. 


	6. Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are next installment, four more to edit going to try and get them done as I have another idea for my Winter Steve series. Really love that one, and I think it'd be neat to do a sort of Multi-verse one. So be on the lookout for that. For now, though enjoy!

* * *

Steve wiped sweat from his face with his wet t-shirt wincing in disgust, he’d shed the soaked thing hours ago in the blazing heat. He was more than ready to be done with this day. He’d spent the majority of it fixing a hole in the roof of one of the rental properties. The roof hadn’t looked to be at all in bad condition, and as a matter of fact, the hole had taken some time to locate. It hadn’t been a pressing issue. The tenant, however, had wanted it fixed ASAP as it had apparently been leaking.

“Yoo-hoo!”

A voice called from below and Steve gave a long-suffering sigh, peaking over the edge he spotted the women renter. She was standing in the yard wearing a string bikini that bordered on the obscene.

“Good grief,” he muttered ducking back to the safety of the roof.

It was sadly not the first time he’d encountered such behaviour. It seemed to be an occupational hazard; he figured these rather lonely women had some sort of handyman fantasy they had built up in their heads.

Gathering his tools, Steve pulled his sopping shirt back on, hoping it would provide s little defence against her roving eyes. Steeling his nerves, Steve descended the ladder then.

“All fixed ma'am,” he said politely maintaining his distance as he collapsed the aluminum ladder.

“Oh, thank you,” she breathed coming to press against his back as he tossed his equipment quickly back in his truck.

“However, can I thank you?” she whispered suggestively.

Steve gently but firmly disentangled himself, “Its fine ma’am, have a nice day.”

He was quickly moving towards the cab then, pulling the door before she was against it pushing it closed.

“Come on now, we’re both adults here let's not play coy…” her eyes devoured him from his work boots to his no doubt see-through t-shirt.

Steve’s mind quickly formulated another strategy, “You’re right, won’t play coy ma’am, I’m gay. Sorry.”

That stalled her, her mouth dropped open in an ‘o’ of surprise, and he took the opening.

Moments later he was headed down the drive chuckling, as he glanced at the women in the rearview looking after him with a frown. His good humour lasting all the way back to the clinic.

As he pulled up outside the nondescript building he felt a knot of guilt form in his stomach. Steve felt somewhat responsible for Tony’s injuries. If he’d just told the author the truth from the beginning… he had to tell him. Setting his jaw firmly Steve made a decision, he was going to tell Tony the truth, and then make the dark-haired man stay with him the rest of the summer.

Resolute he entered the clinic, finding the lone patient animatedly talking to the Doc, the pair looked like long-time friends. He smiled leaning against the frame watching, Tony was looking much better now, his cheeks had colour to them, though he still looked tired he didn’t look like the walking dead he had earlier.

Steve was about to announce his presence when the loud tones came across his pager. The other two looked up surprised to see him standing there. 

"You have a call, Steve,” Bruce pointed out helpfully.

“May I?” he pointed to the clinic radio.

“By all means.”

Steve unhooked the handset, “Steve here, what’s up Maria, over.”

“Cat up a tree Steve, over,” The women sounded as though she was strangled.

Doc burst out laughing behind him. Steve stared at the device for a long moment, a sudden feeling of dread settling on him. “Maria, would this cat happen to be in a large oak tree on 3 Beeches Road? Over.”

There was a long pause before she came again. “Yes, ha ha ha ha!”

This time she did lose it, and Steve grimaced. On the bed, Tony looked confused, while the Doc seemed greatly amused.

“What am I missing?” Tony asked

Bruce managed to reign in his mirth long enough to explain, “3 Beeches is the Fire Chiefs address, the first weekend in July he has a family get together. Well about three years ago just after Steve had joined, they had a sort of initiation. They called in a ‘cat up a tree’, and Steve ever diligent went out in full gear, sirens, and lights to rescue the kitty." 

Steve sniffed standing a little straighter, “I had a duty,”

He could see dark eyes gleaming with suppressed laughter.

"Well, he made quite an impression with the Chief's daughters, all five of them, and some of their daughters.” Doc lost it then letting out a string of giggles, Tony looking to Steve for an explanation.

Steve sighed looking away from the author’s intense gaze, “So every year they put in a ‘cat in the tree’ call and I have to go over there all guns blazing.”

Tony blinked a slow smiling stretching his face, one that knocked Steve right in the chest. It was a sweet smile. Steve knew he was putting up a front, he would go; Chief always made him stay for dinner, it was usually a pretty good time.

Grinning he straightened off the desk, “Well I need some help, want to come?”

Tony looked suddenly excited, “You mean it?”

Steve nodded, “It’ll be fun, ‘sides a bestseller author is way more entertaining than a volunteer firefighter."

Tony scrambled off the bed to follow, both of them pausing at the door, "Thanks for today Doc/"

“Come see me in a week about the arm Tony,” the admonished and they pair departed.

Steve quickly geared up, and they scrambled into the fire truck as the garage door opened.

“Ready?” he grinned to the excited looking Tony; the man nodded eagerly. Steve grinned as he flicked on the lights and sirens, pulling out into the street. Tony laughed with exhilaration, as they headed out of the small main street towards the opposite side of the island, people hurried to pull over, others paused to wave. Steve hit the horn here and there. Cranking the wheel, they headed down an off-street towards a cull du-sac. The Chief’s house sat in the center, and in the front yard yelling and waving was his large extended family.

Steve pulled the truck over before hopping out amid cheers, and laughter. The Chief, Clint Barton was laughing, Steve couldn’t help it he cracked a smile as well shaking the man’s hand. Steve waited until Tony joined him, “Chief, this is Tony Stark the author staying on Salts Hill.”

Suddenly they were surrounded by the rest of the Barton clan yelling and carrying on. In the middle of the confusion, Steve found himself gently taking Tony’s hand. The author grinned back gripping tightly to his hand as they peppered him with questions.

-#-#-#-

After the initial chaos, and all the introductions had been made, Steve did indeed climb the tree to rescue the family cat. Apparently, every year the Chief did indeed put the cat up a tree for ‘authenticity’, as he had confided in Tony. The big orange tabby by the name of Thor was well used to the whole drama, had taken up residence on Tony’s lap soon after rescue and showed no signs of moving.

It was almost midnight when they finally returned the truck to the station, Tony still bouncing on could nine. The Barton family had taken him into their fold immediately, Tony couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun. His good humour lasted until they were in Steve’s truck, Tony’s smile fading as he realized that it was time for him to go back.

“Stay with me tonight Tony…at my place…” Steve said softly.

Tony bit his lip, the invitation was tempting, he wanted to stay with Steve. His little cottage on the point was paradise… but the house… that strange ominous house was calling…

He had to go back.

Steve seemed to read his silence, reluctantly driving them slowly towards Salts Hill.

Tony thanked him quietly for the wonderful day, looking at him sadly Steve opened his mouth before closing it again. He looked frustrated and more than a little worried

“I will see you later,” Tony assured him turning towards the house.

After all, he had a story to finish.

-#-#-#-

His days blurred together in the overheated study, Tony slept little, and when he did it was full of the faces of those unknown women. They called out to him, begging and pleading with him. Their faces were before him as he worked, typing feverishly on his keyboard. Page after page, of writing. He had long lost track of his story, yet his fingers continued to move.

His aching shoulder was enough to force him from the laptop, moving to sit amongst the papers on the floor. Tony had read them time and time again, yet they had yielded no answers. His internet research had proved just as fruitless aside from the vacation brochures and online reviews of the aptly named Summers Folly. There had to be more, where was the history of the place? He needed to understand.

Sighing he sat back against the desk closing tired eyes, the house was silent…still…

The book hit the floor with a resounding thud, and Tony nearly came out of his skin. Gasping he clutched at his chest heart hammering so fast it felt as if it would beat out of his chest. He glanced around the room, unable to help himself. 

“Easy Stark,” he whispered, moving slowly on all fours towards the small, tattered soft cover that lay on the floor. The cover was torn off but the first page bore the name of the book.

“A History of the Island of Summers Folly…” he muttered gently picking it up he leafed through the worn pages the thing was old, the copyright said 1974. A frown crossed his face, as he looked at the table of contents, eyes skimming across the headings; formation, geographic features, current information. Dark eyes stopped as he read the heading of part two…the early history of the island. 

Quick he found the page eagerly reading the text;

_Summers Folly was not always the popular tourist destination_ _it is today. Once it was greatly feared by local native tribes. Despite the wellspring of freshwater, vegetation, and plentiful fishing they avoided the land at all costs. Going so far as to avoid talking about it, speaking about the island only in general terms._

_Roughly translated the name the locals gave it was ‘the cursed rock’, and leaving the land untouched._

_It was well after the colonials had come before the island was stumbled upon by some intrepid travellers. Dismissing the warnings form the Natives as superstition, the island was settled by a few in the mid-1700s although the actual date is unknown. No true records of the island were kept until the 1800s._

_However, there is one story that has captured the morbid imagination of historians, a tale that has been passed down as lore. Surviving today only in memory._

Tony turned the page, hazel eyes bright with fevered light, his heart sinking when he realized the next several pages where missing. The rest of the story was missing. He frantically flipped through the pages again, hoping that maybe the story was not missing.

“No…” he muttered, “No I have to know!” he angrily thumped the book down. The cracked spine opening to the last page, a picture of a young man smiling at the camera. Tony cocked his head sideways reading the text under the photo.

“Author Stephen Strange has lived on the Island of Summers Folly his whole life…” he murmured, eyes widening. He sprang up grabbing the book and dashing back to the desk. He was sure he’d seen a local phone book…more of a phone pamphlet.

He skimmed to the S’s almost giddy with elation when he saw an address for an S. Strange, 1 Shore Rd.

Tony grinned, hurrying to put on some pants.

-#-#-#-

Steve straightened with a groan, “God it’s hot!” he whined, glancing up at the unrelenting sun.

For once the weather people had predicted right the temperatures were reaching well past the 35-degree mark, and Steve was pretty sure he was melting. Soaked through with sweat he had opted for cargo shorts instead of his usual jeans, and his shirt…well the shirt had gone ages ago. He glanced back down at the garden he’d been weeding frowning.

He hadn’t seen Tony in two weeks; he hadn’t got around to mowing the damn lawn either. Bucky always seemed to have more pressing matters for him to do at the other rental properties.

“Why don’t you just go talk to him you coward,” he grumbled to himself glowering at the flowers.

“What’d those weeds ever do to you?” A cheery voice called over the fence.

“Doc,” Steve acknowledged the curly-headed man moving closer to speak to him.

“You looked like you were thinking hard about something.”

Steve sighed heavily, “Yeah…” he mumbled.

Bruce gave him a knowing grin, “Still haven’t asked him out yet?”

Steve shook his head, “No not that, it’s the house…” he lowered his voice.

The doctor looked suddenly older, sadder, “Why Steve? What good is it going to do stirring up ghosts?”

Steve looked at her grimly, “I think Tony’s the one stirring up ghosts…”

-#-#-#-

The house was a ramshackle little thing on the very edge of the island.

Tony had a terrible time finding it, being as the street sign appeared to be hand-painted and horribly faded, and wasn’t really much of a street at all. Still, as he pulled up in his truck Tony hesitated, it didn’t look like the home of an author. Then again who was he to judge? 

Tony needed to know through override any sort of good sense. Setting his jaw, he stepped out of his truck, picking his way across the cluttered lawn, and onto the sloping porch. Years of debris and trash made the going difficult.

The screen door hung askew, but the wooden door beyond looked solid enough. Taking a breath, he knocked, stomach-churning and hands sweating. He wasn’t good at meeting strangers, talking to new people; he forced away his paranoia. The silence after his knock stretched out into nothing. No rustle, no movement, from inside.

He tried again louder, “Mr. Strange?” he called loudly. This time he heard shuffling and muttering, then a curse as the door was ripped open.

“Go away!” he bellowed.

Tony was taken aback; the man bore no resemblance to the photo. He was older, angry, gaunt and pale with wild dark hair and beard. He glared at him through red-rimmed watery eyes. Tony wanted to turn and run, the man looked ready to commit murder. Still, he needed to know…

“Mr. Strange? My names Tony Stark…I found your book and I wanted to as-” the door slammed in his face.

“Ask you a few questions…” he finished to the wood.

“Go away!” the irate man yelled back.

Tony planted his feet, “Please sir I just need to know about-”

“I said fuck off what part of that do you not understand?!”

Tony was getting angry now, "Come on, please? I'm an author too,” he called hopefully.

“Don’t care,” the other grunted back.

Tony’s shoulders slumped dejected, “I just wanted to ask you about Salts Hill. You see I’m staying there and things…” he trailed off, not sure he really wanted to yell about what was happening to him through solid wood.

Silence.

Tony waited heart pounding in chest…nothing.

He turned slowly; it had been worth a try. Carefully he moved to step off the porch when he heard the door creak slowly open behind him.

“You said you’re staying at Salts Hill,” the voice was croaky, hoarse as if he hadn't spoken in a long time.

Tony turned back slowly, “Yes,” he replied cautiously, the door opened a little wider.

“Why are you here Tony?” The man asked harshly.

"I found your book," he held up the ratty paperback, watching as the already pale man seemed to take on a sickly pallor. He watched as trembling hands moved a cigarette in his lips before lighting it.

“You better come in,” he finally said exhaling a cloud of acrid smoke.

Tony cautiously followed.

The living room was just as messy as the yard, papers and books stacked everywhere. The man, Strange, settled unceremoniously on a ratty chair, tapping his ashes into an already overflowing tray.

“So where did you find that relic?” He gestured to the book Tony hugged to his chest.

Tony sat gingerly on the edge of a dirty looking couch, lest he disturbed the junk stacked on it. 

“Umm, in the house actually it was on one of the shelves.” He looked at the old man through the cloud of blue smoke that hung in the air, eyes dark fathomless as the appraised him calculating and intelligent.

“How long have you been staying in that godforsaken place?”

“Close to two months now,” Tony replied softly, feeling of unease settling on him.

“Anything weird going on?”

Tony nodded slowly, and the man chuckled darkly, “If you had any sense at all Stark, you would get the hell out of there and never look back.”

Tony swallowed thickly, “I need to know…” he whispered, “You mentioned a story in your book…but the pages are missing.”

He handed the book over, Strange frowning at the torn pages.

“For the best…” he mumbled, looking up at Tony. He had come this far, he was not going to back down, he had to know what was happening in that house…what was happening to him.

“Please,” he begged his tone vaguely above a whisper.

“Look Stark, that story…this book never should have been published. It…it didn’t...” he trailed off looking suddenly, infinitely sad.

“I have to know.”

Strange looked at him for long moments; looking like he was waging an internal war with himself. Tony watched as he took one last drag of his cigarette before snubbing out the butt, and taking his time lighting another.

“Alright…I’ll tell you the story, but in return Stark promise me you’ll get out of that house.”

Tony gave something close to a nod, not daring to speak in case he changed his mind.

Despite his appearance, the man was clearly a born storyteller, Tony thought as his husky smoke laced voice wove its terrible spell over him. He could see the whole tragic story in minute detail; like a horror movie playing in his mind.

“The story begins and ends with the Summers family,” Strange started as he lit another cigarette, speaking around the slim white stick.

“I assume you read the first part, the prelude so to speak, so I won’t bore you with the early history, sufficed to say they were well warned away from the island again and again. Otto, the patriarch of the clan, was a good stout Catholic, chalked it up to the ‘pagan superstition’ and with little worry moved his entire family to the island.”

Strange exhaled and Tony dared not breath.

“Otto and Leah Summers had eight children, four boys, and four girls. The oldest was Sarah Summers, the others have been lost to time." 

Tony’s fingers itched to write this down, he wished he’d brought a pen and paper with him.

“The original intent was for the Summers to set up and maintain an outpost for settlers moving through the area. The fur trade was lucrative at the time and Otto hoped to capitalize on this. It was not to be, however; the Summers moved to the island in early spring never to be heard from again. By the time the ice had frozen solid enough for a small party to get out to the island what they found would drive three of the four men mad, and the fourth would hang himself before the year was out.”

Strange paused seeming to collect himself, “No one is sure what happened to the Summers family, the only clue was in Sarah Summers diary. The last entry dated September 1 of that year. The early entries are fairly straight forward, she wrote about her worries and fears, living on the island. Halfway through the mundane take a macabre turn. Dead animals start showing up outside the family house, horribly mutilated.”

Tony didn’t move a muscle; heart thudding in his ears. He tried to swallow but his throat felt dry as cotton.

“As the summer progressed her entries in the diary become less intelligible, filled with ravings and paranoia. That last entire though, that last one has stuck with me all these years later. It was short, ‘he said they need to die, all of them’.”

Strange butted out his cigarette, pausing as he leaned forward, those eyes still impossibly dark and ominous.

“After that there was nothing, but the terrified accounts of the men who went to the island in search of the Summers. They found was the house had burnt down, and inside was the remains of nine bodies. Still in their beds.”

Tony frowned something tugging at the back of his mind, “Only nine?”

Strange nodded solemnly, “Only nine…there was one female missing. The men got out of there as fast as they could, but they swore up and down later they heard a woman’s mad laughter echoing across the island.”

Strange lit another cigarette then inhaling deeply as he leaned back in his chair.

“After that, the island became known as ‘Summers Folly’, both as a reminder and a warning to those who would come after. The problem with memory though…it fades. More people came, they settled the island, but everyone stayed away from the old burnt out foundation on the hill. That is until Salts.”

Tony blinked pieces beginning to fall into place in his mind, “Salts Hill,” he murmured.

Strange snorted blowing smoke out his nose, "People may have forgotten, but that place…that cursed place never forgets."

Strange let the silence hang in the room then, thick and cloying like the smoke that seemed the writhe his head.

“I read the stories, about the families,” Tony said softly, gazing at a distant place spot on the wall. A sudden thought came to him then and he was looking back at the older man.

“What happened after your book was published?”

Strange sighed looking pained then, “It was not well received, and the powers that be did not like what I wrote… they said it ‘gave the wrong impression’ about the island.”

The younger man frowned, “So they pulled the book?”

Strange snorted, “Not just that, they buried it, and buried me, it was the first and last book I ever wrote.”

Tony couldn't help but feel for the man, to not be able to write anymore, he couldn't imagine. 

“So Stark, I came through, now it’s time for you to hold up your end of the bargain; get out.”


	7. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to get this one finished up! I promise, be aware there is a warning for this chapter. It is a horror story so just be aware, please! I don't want anyone to get upset just wanted to warn everyone. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING DESCRIPTION OF CHILD BEING KILLED

* * *

Steve eased the truck up the lane, his mind finally settled; he had come to a decision.

He was determined to tell Tony the truth of the house, and then he’d offer his own house for the rest of the summer, even if it meant he’d have to sleep in a tent in the back yard. He couldn’t believe the man had managed to stay almost two months. He'd barely lasted the week getting the place set up.

Shutting down the truck before the house, he gripped the steering wheel tight looking up at the building silent and dark despite the heat of the day. An unbidden chill crept down his spine and he set his jaw, he was going to do this.

Forcing his legs to move he stepped out of the truck a frown pulling his features when he realized, Tony’s truck was gone.

“Where’d he go…” he murmured confused, and a little concerned. Tony hadn’t driven since he’d arrived in June. They’d always gone in his truck.

“Maybe he went to the clinic,” he reasoned glancing around, the lawn was a little overgrown, but the lack of precipitation had worked in his favour, it wasn't out of hand. Still, it needed cutting, and he had been badly neglecting his job. Sighing he glanced at his watch, it was coming on four and the yard would take some time…he hated being here after five.

“Stop being a coward,” he mumbled pulling the tailgate down, it was time to get to work.

-#-#-#-

Tony drove slowly through town, oblivious to the loud, rambunctious tourist walking the strip in the too warm evening. He glanced at the clock, it was six now, he had left Strange’s house hours ago but had been unable to bring himself to return to Salts Hill. His head felt heavy, too much information, overflowing with confusing thoughts. He’d found a secluded spot and walked the beach, trying to sort through the tangle of thoughts that tumbled around in his mind.

Tony found himself in a surreal set of circumstances. Despite the fact he wrote horror novels, he didn’t believe in the paranormal; he never had. Losing one's mind or faculties, the unknown faceless assailant, a flesh and blood man; those scared him.

Not the dead.

Yet here he was, dreaming of dead women; dead women begging for help.

The story of Sarah Summers had left a sour taste in his mouth, he wasn’t sure how much was real and how much was in Strange’s own mind. The man was clearly a broken one, losing the will to write, that scared Tony far more than the supernatural.

Slowly he guided the truck through the overhung lane towards the house; mind still a million miles away.

Until he heard the mower; Steve was here.

Tony felt his heart lift, he wracked his brain for the last time he’d seen the big man. Coming to the conclusion it had been the party at the Fire Chief’s house. Finding a small smiled he parked his tuck up getting out. He couldn’t see Steve but he could hear the sound of the weed eater behind the house.

Tony moved to look for him when a sudden thought made him pause, maybe he should talk to Steve about the house. He felt little he needed to confined in someone, tell him everything that was happening to him. If for no other reason than to just share all the madness that seemed to be bubbling around in his head.

Then another, more nagging thought crossed his mind, _he’ll think you’re crazy._

Steve rounded the house then, covered in grass, dirty, stained, and sweat-soaked. Yet Tony thought he looked better then any man had right to. Steve hadn’t spotted Tony yet, so the dark man leaned against the handyman’s truck waiting. Watching the strong back, pulling the t-shirt he wore tight, thick, tanned arms flexing.

Steve finished several minutes later powering down the machine, as he turned to return it to his truck. Tony smiled as he spotted him then, smiling, but it was a restrained, one that made Tony frown in reaction.

“Tony, sorry I’ve neglected the lawn it’s been very busy with the rental properties, and the heat.”

Tony blinked, the lawn?

Steve wasn’t meeting his eyes as he spoke, storing the machine in the trailer before turning back to him, “I’ll try to make sure I get out here at least once a week.”

Tony watched closely, suddenly unaccountably sad. He had been secretly hoping the man would invite him for dinner, perhaps to walk that bustling boardwalk…truth be told Tony wanted a date; a real one. Wanted to be with the Steve, anywhere was better than that house.

The air hung heavy between them so much left unsaid. Tony could feel the tension in the air, Steve looked up at him slowly, intense blue eyes catching him effortlessly; a man could get lost in those kinds of eyes.

“Tony I-” Steve began only to be cut off by his pager blaring out in the early evening air, “Shit!” he cursed roundly, “Look Tony-” the crackle of static cutting in again.

“Structure fire, all personnel report, over.”

Cursing again Steve was moving, all but leaping into his truck, as he shot Tony a pleading look, “I’m sorry, I’ll be back,” he promised before flipping on his green lights and earing out of the lane.

Tony watched him leave, disappointment, and fatigue settling in his stomach. He just wanted to sleep…sleep without any damn nightmares.

Leaden feet trudged into the house, and up the stairs. Those stairs that haunted his dreams, that seemed to hold significance… exhausted Tony moved to the bedroom collapsing into the unmade bed closing his eyes. Sleep claimed him in minutes.

-#-#-#-

Steve had been the first to the hall, the others hurrying in after as they pulled on their bunker gear and jumped on the pumper.

Steve took the wheel, “Address Maria, over.”

There was a brief pause then, “1 Shore Road, over.”

-#-#-#-

_“Steve!” he moaned, rough callused hands touching him, rubbing up and down his body. Tony’s own long fingers running across bronzed planes of muscle._

_They lay naked and entwined, Tony was hard and aching, wanting nothing more than for Steve to take him, claim him. The sweet torture driving him mad._

_“Tony,” the husky voice sent a pleasant chill down his spine, Tony reached for him wanting to crush the big man close._

_It was suddenly cold, bitterly cold and he wanted Steve’s warmth._

_Shivering he moaned as things began to change, Steve vanishing as the bedroom melted around him…and he was alone._

_It was dark, oppressively dark, and somehow smaller._

_The echo of a gun broke that unnatural stillness and Tony gasped whirling, his chest felt like it was tightening, leaving him struggling to breathe, His legs felt heavy, not wanting to move yet he felt compelled to…_

_Trembling legs brought him to a closed-door, chest heaving he reached out to open it._

_It opened suddenly, a woman appearing from the darkness. Her dress was old, worn, and splattered with a dark wet something. Her skin was pale and milk, hair red as fire, and green eyes bright and feverish. In her delicate hands, she held a musket._

_An old gun._

_Tony knew who she was at once; Sarah Summers._

_Tony wanted to scream, yell, say anything, but he could do nothing. She walked through him, face impassive as she moved to another door across the hall. He watched her very calmly reloaded the gun before opening the next door, and without pause shooting._

_Tony could hear the scramble of footsteps, a child of no more than ten running out of the room terrified. He tried to yell a warning, horror rising in his chest. The shot hit the child fully in the back sending the body into the wall before sliding to the floor unmoving._

_Tony wanted to be sick to his stomach. Yet he was forced to watch on, as the horror was repeated. By the third room, the rest were awake, confused and screaming._

_Then ringing silence._

_She moved away from the bodies, face impassive and unchanged. A match flared bright, illuminating her blood-splattered face, before she lite the lantern on the table, throwing a pool of dim light around her._

_Tony burned and froze, helpless as she lifted the lamp high before bringing it down with a crash setting the rug alight. She smiled then, in the faint orange flame. Grabbing up a bottle from the table she laughed cruelly as she emptied it onto the floor, watching as it spread a long tongue of flame across the room._

_Looking manic she watched as the fired roared higher consuming the small table and chairs in the room. She turned away then, heading outside and Tony was forced to follow._

_She never looked back._

_Walking away from the house, her dead family, and into the arms of a shadowy figure. Tony was forced to move closer, but he couldn’t see the face of the figure. Unknown._

_She went towards them, willingly arms outstretched. They embraced Tony, watching transfixed as whoever it was holding her with one arm the other taking the gun from limp fingers. She looked up at smiling, her expression freezing before it began to morph into something closer to horror._

_She turned to run._

_Tony saw it all in horrifying relief; she turned to look back a familiar expression of horror on her face. Tony felt a jolt, or recognition, he knew that expression, he’d seen it so often, or different face._

_Behind her, the gun was lifted and fired catching her full in the back. Sending her sprawling to the ground._

_She didn’t move again._

_The cold cruel laughter followed._

Tony woke with a scream on his lips, trembling violently he rolled out of bed, sweat-soaked and sick. He'd seen it, he was sure of it, it had been Sarah Summers…

“Oh god…” he moaned low in his throat stumbling towards the bathroom. He bent over the toilet vomiting nothing save bile, he couldn’t remember when last, he ate. Sobbing and shaking he splashed cold water on his face, taking deep gulps of air; sure, as anything, he was seeing the past. 

On unsteady legs, he staggered his way to the study, he had to write this down before it left him, the scene imprinted on his feverish mind. Ignoring his sore shoulder, he grabbed pen and paper, forgoing the computer to get his thoughts out instantly, jumbled and disjointed. Muttering to himself he froze suddenly hearing a noise; a creak from the hall.

Mouth dry, fear settled in his belly as the hairs on his neck raised, goosebumps pebbling clammy skin.

He didn’t want to look.

Every fibre of his being told him not to look.

Compelled he found his neck turning, terrified and wide-eyed. There was a silhouette in the door, insubstantial and dark but he knew instinctively it was a woman; a woman in a darkly stained dress.

Tony whimpered, “No…” he managed past the lump of fear in his throat.

She moved forward.

Tony finally got his limbs moving backing up, and she glided closer, legs weak with fright he tripped over the desk, moving around it until his back met the glass of the window. He pressed against it, unable to go further, and she paused inches from him, still cloaked in darkness somewhat indefinable.

“What…” he whispered, swallowing as his voice cracked, “What do you want from me…” he managed barely above a whisper.

Nothing.

She stood unmoving and Tony’s heart pounded out of his chest. The silence stretched out agonizingly.

Just when Tony thought he couldn’t take it anymore she shot forward her face, a twisted mask of hate.

_Die!_

The word echoed painfully in his head, and he felt something hard hit his chest. Tony heard a terrific crunch and the sound of breaking, distantly he registered he was falling broken glass around him. He had not time to yell out. Just empty blackness, and the freshly cut lawn racing up to meet him.

-#-#-#-

Steve tipped his helmet back, his sweaty face smudged with soot and grime. They’d finally managed to control the blaze, easing their worry about it spreading to the nearby brush and spreading. The shack was a total loss. It had gone up like a tinder box, gutting the place before they’d even arrived.

“Well it’d pretty obvious who started the thing,” Chief Barton looked just as tired as he felt; it had taken hours to get the thing under control.

Sheriff Rhodes was nearby, shaking his head in disbelief, the perpetrator of the fire was Strange himself. They’d found him outside jabbering and hollering, nonsensical things about someone named Sarah.

“I thought his wife’s name was Christine,” Steve was sure she had passed on several years ago,

“It was,” Rhodey confirmed strolled over, “I have no idea who or what he’s on about.”

Steve scratched his chin, his clothing soaked through under his heavy bunker gear. He was hot, tired, and thoroughly miserable, he didn’t really care about Strange’s rantings. Shrugging he turned to put his axe away on the truck when suddenly Strange was before him gripping his coat and yelling in his face.

“He had to know! I had to tell him!" The wild-looking soot-stained man shouted frantically, “I told him to leave that place, you need to make sure he leaves. He needs to get out before she gets him.”

Steve stared at him uncomprehending, so surprised by the onslaught that he didn’t even try to shake him off. 

Rhodes intervened then, "God sakes Stephen get yourself together man!" he grunted wrestling the man away.

Steve stood frozen in place… _make him get out_ … the words rang in his head.

“Mr. Strange,” he chased after the pair, “Did a man come to visit you today, named Tony Stark?”

He looked at Steve solemnly, before nodding once.

“Shit!” Steve was terrified, he turned running back towards the Rescue 3, “Borrowing the truck Chief,” he yelled.

“What? Where the hell are, you going?”

Steve looked grim, “Salts Hill …” he threw on the lights and sirens driving like hell.

-#-#-#-

He hurt everywhere.

His face felt wet, and his body was freezing. Moaning he tried to breath shallow, dazed eyes staring up at the endlessly black sky. He tried lifting his arms; the movement was agony. Giving a small quite cry, he squinted at the limb, something was protruding out of it.

“Oh god…” he closed his eyes again feeling horribly woozy. Coughing pained he took a few steadying breaths before he opened his eyes again gazing up at the now broken second-story window.

That was a hell of a fall.

He coughed again, tasting blood, “Fuck…” he breathed, cradling his arm as he slowly rolled to his side, trying to ease himself up.

A distant noise reached him on the cool night breeze, Tony frowned, “Is that a siren?”

His mind was a little muddled, there was a greyness hovering at the edge of his mind, and struggled to stay conscious. He could swear there were flashing lights approaching though; he shook his head trying to clear it.

Staggering unsteadily upwards he tried to cradle his arm, trying desperately not to look at it. Whimpering he slowly, painfully moved towards the front yard, his pain fogged mind telling him to get help. He rounded the corner of the house just at the lights he’d thought he’d seen in his head, reached the house.

“Steve…” he muttered, watching as a figure barreled out of the truck yelling. He yelled back, or at least he felt like he did, staggering forward a few more steps. Everything was sounding so far away now, the creeping blackness on the edges of his vision so inviting.

He pitched forward into oblivion.

-#-#-#-

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so worried.

The night blurred together for him from the fire to finding Tony in the yard covered in blood and looking very much like he'd gone through the second-story window.

Doc had assured him Tony was going to be fine, the biggest concern had been the large shard of glass stuck in his arm. It had needed twenty stitches to close. The rest had been bumps, bruises, minor contusions, and a mild concussion. He’d been very lucky, any higher and he may not have walked away from it.

Steve yawned, he was beyond tired, he hadn’t slept in the last twenty-four hours but he was determined to stay by the author’s side until he woke. His conscience eating away at him; it was all his fault. As soon as Tony woke he would rectify the situation, gently he kissed a bandaged hand, he would tell him everything.

A small moan from the prone man on the bed, jerked him from his thoughts, “Tony?” he asked softly. Dark eyes fluttering the man on the bed worked his jaw wincing as it pulled at a dark bruise.

“Steve?” He asked, voice a little rough.

“Right here,” he assured him rubbing a callused thumb across his knuckles.

“Where…where am I…” he mumbled, eyes clearing as he frowned.

“In the clinic…Tony, do you remember what happened?"

Those expressive eyes fluttered closed as he groaned, “I went out the window…”

“Yeah, Tony I-” he began only to be cut off by another voice.

“You’re awake then, how are you feeling?" Dr. Banner bustled over, taking no notice of Steve’s glare.

Briskly he checked Tony’s bandages, and his head, shining a flashlight in his eyes, “You’ll live, but you're going to feel like hell for a while."

Tony snorted, sitting up carefully, “No kidding.”

Bruce helped him ease upwards moving a pillow to support his back with a shake of his head, “You have a concussion, I don’t think you should be alone for a while Tony, you co-” 

“He’s staying with me,” Steve blurted out forging ahead with grim determination, “He’ll stay with me, I’ll watch him.” His voice was louder than normal, but he didn’t care he needed to get this out.

Tony arched a brow at him lips turning up at the sides, and the Doc chuckled. “Alright Steve, you can take him home and both of you rest for a while.”

Steve grinned squeezing the injured man’s hand gently before he rushed out to bring the truck around. Eager to get Tony home.

-#-#-#-

Tony thanked Bruce as he tossed him, some scrubs.

“You came in your skivvies,” Bruce remarked with a grin.

Tony flushed, looking away embarrassed.

Bruce winked, “I didn’t mind in the least.”

Tony couldn’t help but laugh, “Thanks so much Bruce sorry to keep dropping in,” he apologized softly.

The older man’s face turned serious, “Tony…I’m not going to ask what happened, but that house…that house has a way of getting to people. Do me a favour, and Stay with Steve the rest of the summer.”

Tony blinked, surprised as the man gave him a small smile.

“Need some help?” Steve was back looking harried, dirty, and more than a little tired. Tony nodded as he carefully pulled on the borrowed clothes, before leaning on Steve as they made their way to the truck.

Tony barely registered the beautiful summer morning, and by the time they reached Steve’s little cottage Tony's eyes were heavy again. He allowed Steve to guide him into the house and up to his bedroom before he realized and tried to protest that he couldn’t take his bed. The larger man overruled him.

“Sleep,” he said tucking him in with a soft smile.

Tony smiled groggily back, heavy eyes sliding closed, his last fleeting thought was the comforting smell of Steve.


End file.
